


Ditched

by FORINSECAL



Category: Invader Zim
Genre: Canon - Comics & Cartoon Combination, Canon Compliant, Gen, No Romance, Older Dib (Invader Zim), Plot, Post-Canon, Post-Invader Zim: Enter the Florpus, ZADF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2020-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-07 18:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20821709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FORINSECAL/pseuds/FORINSECAL
Summary: After the events of 'Enter the Florpus', Zim can no longer find the Tallest or open up communications with them. Outdated equipment and a lack of resources force Zim into a temporary truce with Dib - so long as he halts his Invasion, Dib will stop trying to unveil him to the world. What results is a shaky friendship, neither one of them fully able to trust the other. Whilst Dib secretly prepares for the worst, Zim spends the next four years trying to locate the Super Massive, until Prisoner 777 reaches out claiming to have the answers Zim seeks. But what he believes will lead him to his Tallest only ends up tearing them further apart as he inadvertently triggers the long-awaited Vortian revolt. Not for the first time, Zim has to consider saving the Earth, only this time, there is more than his mission at stake...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Discord for giving the first couple of chapters a read through and inspiring me to post! Feedback appreciated!

There was no clock, but there was a ticking sound. Clicking, thrumming, the whir of computer systems working in the background. Dib flipped another page of his textbook. Checked the time on his phone. Reached over to tease open his backpack to make sure his equipment was still doing its job. The longer the silence between them wore on, the less comfortable he felt.

‘What is it you’re working on again?’

‘Silence. I need silence...’

He sighed. Flipped another page. Zim hadn’t even turned around in his seat to greet him, and Dib had been in the base for nearing two hours now. It had become an after school routine; since their truce, Zim’s trust had gradually extended to allowing Dib into even the deepest compartments of his lair.

A lot could change in four years, after all. Except for Zim’s height. Whilst all of the other kids in school aged and grew, Zim stayed the same. There was only so long he could keep up the disguise, and in the end he stopped attending altogether. The teachers either didn’t notice or didn’t care. Classes continued with one less student and nobody batted an eye.

Just like with the florpus hole. Peace Day celebrations were annual, and yet the events following the takeover of the Membracelet had become an amusing anecdote; a footnote on the news; the much-cited reason for ongoing atmospheric anomalies that were either officially attributed to climate change or, in less scientific circles, the earth being flat.

Dib knew better. He had always known better, but his rivalry with Zim soon stopped being about the Earth’s demise, and more about just trying to one-up each other. One threat on his life should have been enough, but it would take three more before he realised things had to change. Despite the truth of it, telling his Dad he’d fended off yet another alien invasion attempt was fast becoming an unusable excuse. At his last hospital trip, it was Gaz who had made him see sense.

_ You’re going to kill yourself if you keep going. _

And it was clear Zim couldn’t take much more either.

His equipment was in desperate need of repair. A lot of his apparatus was out of commission or badly patched. There came a point where beating him, winning against him, wasn’t even enjoyable anymore.

It was just sad.

Which made the silence all the more troubling. Without distractions, Dib couldn’t stop himself from remembering how they ended up in this tenuous alliance in the first place. 

He looked over the top of his textbook. Zim was leaning close to the touchscreen of the console he worked at, the bumped ridge of his spine visible through his clothing. Whatever had happened to his kind after the florpus, it was clear they were not sending him provisions anymore.

Dib cleared his throat. ‘You’re trying to contact your leaders again, aren’t you?’

This finally got his attention. Zim stood up, as short as ever despite being on one of the many curved, ribbed chairs characteristic of the base, and turned to face him, red eyes sharpened into slits.

‘If you  _ must _ know, yes -’

‘I don’t know why you bother.’

‘I must update them about my mission -’

Dib lowered his textbook. A severe stare was usually enough to fluster Zim, and sure enough, his antennae flattened back against his scalp.

‘Update them on how the  _ parameters _ of my mission here on Earth have changed,’ he corrected.

‘I stop pursuing you, you stop trying to take over the world. That was the deal.’

‘Quit worrying,’ Zim said, antennae perking up again as he returned to his typing. ‘I’m still honouring our truce.’

Concern always left him sounding like mockery. Dib rested against the data storage towers at his back, the warmth they were generating like breaths at the nape of his neck. He pretended to be interested in his textbook once more, squinting in the low light.

‘So if you find them, what then?’

‘There’ll be much praise for Zim,’ the Irken said, clawed fingers grasping at the air. ‘Much praise.’

‘Do you think they’re still gonna treat you like an Invader?’

Zim waved one hand dismissively whilst typing with the other. ‘Relax. I won’t be  _ Urth’s _ Invader after this. Once I find the Tallest, they’ll give me more important missions.’

‘You don’t think they’ll be mad?’ Dib ventured. ‘About the whole... florpus hole thing?’

There was a pause. It went on for so long, Dib looked up from his textbook just to check that Zim had heard him.

He had gone still. Head bowed. Until suddenly, his typing quickened.

‘The Tallest could never be angry with Zim,’ he said proudly. ‘I’m their greatest Invader.’

Dib chewed at his lower lip, propped his glasses further up his nose. Above the tip-tapping of Zim’s pointed fingers on the console, there was his indistinguishable muttering. A language Dib would never be able to understand, no matter how patiently Zim tried to teach it to him. If repeating a series of grunts and warbles before losing his temper and giving up could be classed as ‘patient’.

‘Besides, why worry, Dib-thing?’ Zim then said. ‘The Armada is lightyears away. They probably won’t even get to Urth in your lifetime.’

‘That’s really not the point.’ 

Dib tugged his backpack closer, his foot hooked under one of the arm straps. Probably time to move the drive around to better his chances. He stood up and wandered over to the chair where Zim was sitting. Since the Irken was turned away from him, he dared stretch upwards, holding his backpack closer to the computer to see if that improved the download.

‘Don’t you think it’s time you let this go?’ he tested, wanting Zim to remain distracted. ‘I mean, what if they  _ are _ mad about the florpus hole. They’ll come straight here and -’

One of the straps on his bag slipped through his fingers, grazing the top of Zim’s head. Dib slung the backpack over his shoulder, pretending he had been about to offer a soothing pat instead, to which Zim flinched, one arm flailing to slap him away.

‘Do not touch Zim!’

‘Oops. Sorry.’

‘And don’t be foolish,  _ Dib _ ,’ he scowled. ‘Your planet is doomed even without the Tallest getting here. I’ve done nothing, and in four years this filth ball is hotter than ever. It’s like your species  _ wants _ to perish -’

‘Well if you hadn’t transported the whole world to another part of space and back again, maybe our climate wouldn’t be so out of whack.’

‘I never transported the Urth back. That was  _ your _ doing -’

‘Because we couldn’t exactly leave it in the middle of nowhere!’

‘Insolent  _ human _ . If you hadn’t gotten in the way, all of Urth’s troubles would be over by now!’

‘Listen to yourself. You might as well just admit that you couldn’t stand your leaders abandoning you. All of that stuff with the florpus was as much about you trying to - ’

Dib stopped himself. Took a breath. He had to be the better person. Or human. Or whatever. 

No matter what he said, or how he said it, Zim wasn’t going to give up the search for his Tallest. Any criticism was met with denial anyway, so a well-aimed jibe just to upset him wasn’t worth the resulting argument. If anything, Dib needed to be in Zim’s base now more than ever. Preying on his insecurities was only going to end in Zim revoking access. And Dib wasn’t going to see the end of the world having done absolutely nothing to stop it. Not now. Not ever.

He left Zim to stew over their half-finished disagreement and went to collect the rest of his things. After checking the progress on the drive, he carefully slid his textbook and notepad on top of the device. That was when he heard Zim’s featherlight footsteps behind him.

‘Sulking? Pathetic. I said Urth’s demise wouldn’t be  _ my _ doing, didn’t I?’

‘Yeah, but you’ve been saying the opposite of that ever since you got here.’ Dib stood to full height, shrugging his backpack onto his shoulder. Another few minutes was all he needed. ‘You  _ are _ going to keep your side of the bargain, right?’

‘I said I would.’

‘Promise?’

Zim put his hands on his hips. ‘Again? You said the pact would be sealed the first time you made me.’

‘Yeah, but… We need to  _ renew _ the pact. That first one was over a year ago. Human promises… You gotta renew them every so often.’

Zim took a moment to think about this, which Dib didn’t mind. The more time he spent in the base, the more time the drive had to soak up data.

‘Fine,’ Zim then said, tone rough with exasperation. ‘Zim  _ promises _ . Again. There. Happy?’

There was a soft beep from the drive in Dib’s backpack.

‘Very. And, uh, I keep my side of the promise, too.’ He held out his hand, expecting them to shake on it, but Zim made no move to complete the gesture. Dib gripped both straps of his bag. ‘Okay, then. See ya.’

He headed for the nearest transporter - the only one he could use now that he was so much taller - and stepped onto the metal panel. Antennae crooked, Zim watched him go, getting smaller and smaller until the transporter was at the top of the house, depositing Dib by a space at the back wall, next to the archway leading into the kitchen. Zim’s robot dog was on the couch watching television. He offered a sweet smile, waving and repeating ‘hello’ in various tones and pitches. Dib’s returning wave was much less enthusiastic. He trudged over to the door, head down, mind whirring.

‘There’s no use worrying now,’ he muttered to himself as he left. ‘He’s not your friend. They’re not your friends…’


	2. Chapter 2

There was no need for him to sleep, but that didn’t mean Zim couldn’t feel fatigued. He put his forehead to the console, forcing his muscles to relax after the hours upon hours he had spent staring at the computer screen. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear GIR pottering around the base, talking to himself, giving into the random bursts of excitement that seemed to plague him. 

Four years was no time at all - like a matter of months to a human - and yet the time since he had seen his Tallest last had slid by with an insufferable slowness. None of his ideas had yet beared fruit; improving the base’s telescope, explorations of his own in the voot cruiser, reaching out to other Invaders and Irken-held territories - all had led to dead ends. On the rare occasions anyone had answered his hailing signal, they had no information either.

_ The Tallest are fine. _

_ You should probably stop trying to contact them. _

_ They’ll call when they _ need _ you, Zim. _

No one understood the seriousness of the situation. The Tallest were _ missing _ , they hadn’t spoken to him in years, and Zim couldn’t find the Super Massive anywhere to send a transmission of his own. That wasn’t normal; and the fact nobody else was alarmed was even _ less _ normal. 

Not that it mattered - once he learnt the whereabouts of the Armada, the Tallest were going to be beyond pleased. They would no doubt praise him highly for his efforts, for not giving up, for trying so hard and so heroically to find them again when everyone else had fallen into complacency.

Surely, they would understand, too, that his mission on Urth had had to be drastically scaled back. Even if the Dib hadn’t agreed to leave him alone, there was the issue of needing to upgrade his equipment and replenish his stocks. No Invader could take over a planet like Urth with subpar weapons and materials - there was too much pre-established infrastructure. Even his oldest technology was advanced compared to what the humans were developing, but their planet was _ big _. And so were his ideas. Nothing he could steal or salvage from the enemy was going to cut it.

Putting a halt to the invasion was the smart thing to do, and Dib’s regular visits made keeping an eye on him much easier than when they were adversaries. Over time, Zim had gotten used to the idea of a truce. Enduring Dib's presence was doable, if it meant avoiding the repercussions of the promises they had made to each other. Not an ideal arrangement, of course, but one that at least befitted the situation he had found himself in. 

A situation, however, that was only going to get more dire the longer he was left without the guidance of his Tallest.

Zim groaned, lifting his head to rub at his eyes. There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath, the vibrations meeting his right antenna.

‘Master’s sleeping.’

Zim sat up straight, scowling. ‘No I’m not -’

‘YOUR DINNER’S GETTING COLD.’

He winced. GIR was standing beside him with a plate of waffles held up over his head, wearing his usual lop-sided smile. Ever unaware of how unendingly irritating he could be. Syrup dripped over the lip of the plate, the smell of the sugar as overwhelming as it was intoxicating.

‘Aren’tcha gonna eat it?’

‘Uh. _ No _.’

GIR’s smile upturned immediately. Zim braced himself for another round of petulant screaming, but just as GIR opened his mouth, the console emitted a series of light trills, surprising them both.

‘Quick! GIR! Get that filthy human food out of here before the Tallest -’

When the screen lit up, however, it was not his Tallest waiting.

‘Zim. I have something urgent to -’ A pause. ‘Forgive me, but… You look… Frail.’

All of the tension in his body was sapped out at the sight of Prisoner 777. Still, it was unusual for him to call. Zim was usually the one to instigate their dealings. Thinking he was unseen, GIR slid the plate of waffles into a free space on the console.

‘Nonsense,’ Zim said, ignoring GIR, ‘I’m as well as ever. What do you want?’ He leaned a little closer to look up at the screen, noting the dark, cavernous surroundings reflecting back at him. ‘That isn’t Moo-Ping 10.’

‘It is. My designated block is undergoing... renovations. My cellmate turned violent. But that’s not important. I was lucky enough to earn one free call for good behaviour and I wanted to use it to speak to you.’

‘Obviously,’ said Zim. ‘But make it quick. The Tallest could call at any minute!’

At this, the Vortian stopped following GIR with his eyes and drew back, surprised. ‘You’ve found them, then?’

Zim braced himself on the console. ‘You know they’re missing, too?!’

‘I - I _ heard _ you were looking for them. I was hoping we could make a deal. I have information. Good information.’

Zim narrowed his eyes. ‘What kind of deal?’

‘Release my children, and I’ll talk.’

‘Talk, and _ maybe _ I’ll release your children.’

‘If you could just show them to me - an image, anything -’

‘You’re not in a position to be making demands of me,’ Zim snapped. ‘Tell me what you know. If your information is as _ good _ as you say, I’ll see what I can do about your… _ children _.’

An involuntary shudder spread through him. Raising younglings was hardly something he had the time for; he had jettisoned them from Earth years ago. Although his resources were running low, he supposed he could spare fuel for the voot cruiser to check in on them. All going to plan, they should have adapted to the wild, uninhabited planet he had left them on. One of the few positive things about being so far out of Irken chartered space was that there were many planet clusters in this galaxy left untouched. He could rely on there being no outside interference, and he had made sure the Vortian young could at least breathe and stomach the planet’s offerings before leaving them.

Prisoner 777 tugged at the collar of his prison-issued uniform. He glanced about himself, momentarily distracted.

‘Alright,’ he relented. ‘Here is what I know. But you might not like it.’

‘Zim will decide whether or not he likes it!’

The Vortian cleared his throat. ‘Your Tallest aren’t missing. They’ve been continuing Operation Impending Doom II using highly advanced cloaking technology which is why you can’t locate them. _ You _ specifically, it should be noted. They are in contact with the other Invaders and in fact most all of Irk and her territories.’ He brought his hand to one of the horns protruding from his head. ‘I’m sorry, Zim.’

‘Sorry?’ Zim repeated. ‘What for? Your _ lies _?’

‘I’m not lying -’

‘This _ information _ of yours is ridiculous -’

‘It’s the truth.’

Zim motioned to cut the transmission. ‘Enough! I can’t believe you’d dare waste my time with -’

‘Wait! I knew you wouldn’t believe me, so watch. Please.’

Using a device on his wrist, Prisoner 777 prompted a holographic image. For a moment, Zim had to wonder why the prison _ he _ was paying for had allowed the Vortian a communications device of that nature - but then the Tallest appeared. They were facing a screen of their own, replicated to him now in tiny, wavering pixels. They were in the hull of the Super Massive receiving a transmission. Not one from him or Prisoner 777, but from another Vortian, two Irkens standing either side of her with stasis weapons.

_ I trust all is well with the cloaking technology, Almighty Tallest _, the Vortian began.

Chin to her chest, she was avoiding eye contact, as was only right. Her hands were fastened together somewhere below the screen frame.

_ It’s better than what you implemented on the Megadoomers _, Red put in.

_ Yeah, this time it cloaks _ everything _ , _said Purple.

_ And better yet, no _Zim.

Purple turned to Red. _ How long has it been now? _

_ Almost a year, and still counting. _

_ We should celebrate that. _

Red nodded. _ We should. _

_ We should host it on one of those party planets and fill the whole room with snacks. _

_ Yeah! And send invites out to every Irken except Zim. _

They both threw their heads back with laughter, the other two Irkens joining in. After elbowing the Vortian, she, too, began to laugh, stopping the instant the Tallest composed themselves.

_ And it should be an annual thing! _Purple added.

_ So long as you keep the settings as they are, you should continue to benefit from our - I mean, _ your _ new technology, Almighty Tallest. _

_ Do you hear that? _ Tallest Red said, turning to the Irkens busy manning the ship. _ Nobody touches the settings on the cloaking device. _

_ But what if we need to show ourselves? _one called back.

_ Nobody. Touches. That’s an order. _

Prisoner 777 tapped the device on his wrist, and the hologram dissipated. His expression was more morose than usual. Zim looked away from the screen for a moment, trying to process everything he had just seen. There was no way his Tallest would speak about him like that, and even less chance a _ Vortian _ would have access to footage from inside the Super Massive.

‘If that recording is real, how come you have it?’ Zim asked, glaring right at him.

‘It _ is _ real -’

‘You’re lying.’

‘Have I ever given you a reason to distrust me?’

Zim growled, bearing his teeth. His fist hit the console, the plate - now empty of waffles - skittering over the edge. GIR lay underneath, the impact on his body shattering the crockery, but he did not stir from his faux sleep.

‘You must be feeling upset,’ Prisoner 777 said.

‘I am Zim; I am an Irken Invader, and Invaders have no _ feelings _. I tire of these games. You said you could tell me where the Tallest are.’

‘I can, but... I want to see my children first.’

‘Tell me what you know, or I won’t spare them. I’m warning you.’

The Vortian looked pained. He cast another glance to his right, as though there was something catching his attention elsewhere.

‘At least tell me if they’re still alive. Please.’

Zim sat down in his seat properly, considering. There was something off about this. To think he had gone four years unable to contact his Tallest, and all along the solution to the problem had been one transmission away. The ‘truce’ with the Dib human was to blame. In his efforts to keep his side of the bargain, Zim had purposely not sought out Prisoner 777; to do so would have only caused temptation.

How long exactly had the Vortian known the whereabouts of the Tallest? Zim shook his head to dislodge the question. The recording wasn’t _ real _. But he could at least humour the prisoner. Any lead was better than none at this point.

‘They are alive,’ he offered. ‘For now.’

Prisoner 777’s expression only grew more desperate, and Zim felt his chest warm with delight.

‘I can feed you the coordinates and current flight plan of the Super Massive, and give you the means with which to disable their cloaking equipment remotely,’ Prisoner 777 said. ‘This information is to replace the original control schematics for the Massive.’

‘Excellent,’ Zim said.

He stood up on his chair and leaned over the console, preparing the base’s computers to receive the feed of information.

‘And in return…?’

Zim tilted his head, right-to-left. ‘Yes, yes,’ he said. The conversation was starting to bore him. ‘Once I have made contact with the Tallest, I will show you that your children are alive and well.’

He pulled at the console controls, bringing into view a visual of the data transfer. The download was sluggish, the base struggling to receive over such a great distance. Everything he owned was long overdue upgrades. Once the Tallest were done praising him, it would be the first thing Zim would ask for. A rush of excitement tugged at his insides. To think he would be able to talk to them soon.

‘You must be ready to release them to me by now,’ Prisoner 777 said, interrupting his imaginings. ‘My children, I mean. Maybe you could -’

‘Silence!’ said Zim.

The console then trilled, indicating the data had been received. Needing nothing more from the Vortian, Zim cut the transmission.

‘Computer, follow those coordinates and map out the expected route for the Super Massive.’

**UGH… FINE.**

‘We’re going home?’ GIR crooned.

He clambered onto Zim’s chair to sit beside him, doing nothing about the shards of plate and syrup sticking to his dog suit. To make room for the map the computer was generating, Zim pushed the chair as far from the console as he could get it. Overhead, a picture of space began to develop, little planets and glittering stars materialising all around them.

‘No, GIR,’ Zim said. ‘First, we find the Tallest. Then once they recognise my genius, we’ll be reassigned to a _ new _ home. There’ll be other worlds for us to conquer. So many worlds.’

‘What about Urth?’

Zim grimaced. ‘Since I promised the Dib-human I would leave this disgusting planet of his alone, I’ve decided that the Urthanoids can eradicate themselves instead. Perhaps that can be just another gift from _ Zim _ to the Tallest. In maybe ten _ human _ years, this rock will be nothing but empty space. Plenty of room for the Tallest to erect a statue in my name for so cleverly outwitting this filthy, useless species. They wouldn’t even make good slaves. They’re too squishy, and weak…’

GIR wrapped his arms around Zim’s waist.

‘I like squishy.’

‘Zim is not squishy!’

**SUPERMASSIVE LOCATED.**

‘Aha! Look, GIR.’

After detaching himself, Zim stood up and pointed at the diagram. There was nothing there but space and planets, the Armada missing from the image. 

‘Ooh,’ GIR said, leaning forward. ‘I can’t see anything!’

Leaping from his seat, Zim raced over to the console, and booted up the replacement schematics for the Super Massive. He had to focus, and he had to work fast. Soon, the Tallest would be able to hear from him for the first time in four, long years. And with any luck, his tenure on Urth would be over. Greater and more amazing things awaited...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment your thoughts! It'd help me out a lot!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick update... Hope that's okay. Thank you for the comments and kudos!

Dib pushed up his glasses only for them to immediately slip down his nose again. There was a film of sweat greasing the frames, the hot breath of his computer mingling with the night’s heat. He relented, leaving his desk to push his bedroom window open as far as it would go. All that met him was still air, a bead of sweat breaking from his hairline. He rubbed his arm across his forehead and looked up at the night sky. Smog blanketed the stars, the street lamps obscuring everything bar a scattering of cool, white glints, and an anaemic husk of moon.

He couldn’t help but wonder what was going on out there in the cold reaches of space. Zim could make contact with his leaders any day now. Although he had joked that the Tallest might not reach earth in his lifetime, Dib could only imagine what kind of technology they had at their disposal. Maybe cutting the distance between galaxies was something they could do in an afternoon. 

He didn’t even need to close his eyes to see the nightmarish vision of those gigantic, alien ships looming over the city; a picture he already saw nightly in his dreams, it was all but burnt into the fibres of his brain. Distraction couldn’t always mask the fear. As soon as his mind drifted, the image would be there, and under his arms would dampen, and his heart would start to race -

‘Are you trying to sneak out?’

Dib reeled back, whipping around to find Gaz standing in his bedroom doorway. Age had not lessened the severity of her countenance. She was dressed casually, an oversized gaming shirt over black leggings, chunks of grass and mud stuck to the soles of her boots.

‘You can’t leave through your window,’ she said. ‘The proximity alarms Dad put out on the lawn are pressure-activated now. Trust me. I’ve tried.’

‘I’m not sneaking out, Gaz, but that’s... good to know, I guess… Where were you off to?’

‘Not that it’s any of your business, but I wanted to make the midnight launch for the Game-Slave X.’ She clenched her fists, tipped her chin to her chest. ‘This is all your fault, you know. If you weren’t always chasing after stupid Zim, Dad wouldn’t have had to go to all of these lengths to keep you inside the house after curfew.’

Dib sighed, slipping off his bed and returning to his desk chair.

‘Yeah, well, I’m uh, an_ acquaintance _of Zim's now.’ His tongue almost tripped over the word, his pulse still thumping. He tapped the screen of his computer monitor, leaving clammy, smeared prints. ‘I’m sure if you asked Dad he’d let you go out to get your game. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but I’m really busy, so I don’t have time for - ’

She stepped into his room, grabbing his chair and forcibly spinning him around to face her.

‘It’s a game _ console _, Dib. Not a game. And I can’t ask Dad because he’s working out of town. Besides, it doesn’t matter that you’re Zim's "acquaintance" now.’ She only let go of his chair to curl her fingers into air quotes. ‘Dad doesn’t trust you anymore, which means he doesn’t trust me either, and I didn’t even do anything wrong.’

She had her hands either side of his head again, gripping the chair so hard the faux leather squeaked. Dib swallowed, his throat sticking. 

‘You’re overreacting -’

Gaz gritted her teeth. ‘Overreacting?’

‘Of course Dad still _ trusts _ you -’

‘You don’t get it. Rules that apply to you, also apply to me, so when you mess up, I have to deal with the consequences.’

‘Okay, Gaz, look, I’m sorry. Can you just - Can you please stop a minute -’

‘Stop what? I’m not even doing anything to you - ’ Her eyes widened. She let go of his chair, pulled back. ‘Why are you shaking?’

Dib looked down at his hands, surprised at just how much he was trembling.

‘Oh, man,’ she groaned, rolling her eyes. ‘You’re not _ actually _ scared of me, are you?’

Leaning forward, Dib massaged his eyes, bumping his glasses up against his brows. His skin crawled, the memory so visceral it was like he could feel the skin on his arms splitting open all over again.

‘Maybe we can work something out,’ he said, suddenly feeling tired.

Before Gaz could ask any more questions, he spun to face his computer screen, tapping and swiping until he had everything where he needed it to be.

‘It’s not urgent, but I’d prefer to bury these in the dark if I can.’ He reached under his desk, unplugging the drive from his computer before resurfacing with it in his lap. ‘Remember my old spelldrives?’

One of Gaz’s brows quirked up, her eyes narrowing. ‘You mean the thing you used to make me taste pork, and only pork, because you were too chicken to test it on yourself?’

A nervous laugh escaped him. ‘That was… Some time, right?’

‘Yeah. You were stuck cleaning that toilet for three days.’

‘Three _ months _, Gaz!’ He put his hand to his chin. ‘There must have been some kind of time distortion…’

‘Whatever. Why do you need to bury them anyway?’

He got up and gestured towards his wardrobe. Opening the doors wide, he showed her the stack of drives he had been smuggling into Zim’s base ever since the alien gave him the go-ahead to access the lower levels. His backpack couldn’t hold all of them, so he knelt down by his bed and began searching underneath for an old duffle bag he knew to be under there from their childhood camping trips.

‘Burying them is what’s gonna help the spell work.’

Dib’s voice left muffled; from where he lay, chest pressed to the floor, he could see Gaz’s shoes; she had wandered over to the wardrobe.

‘Attack or defence?’ she asked, tone lilting with interest.

‘Huh?’

‘The spell,’ she said. ‘What kind is it?’

‘Uh, definitely defence,’ he said. 

His fingers brushed the strap of the duffle bag, and he reemerged, dust bunnies clinging to his t-shirt.

‘It took me a while to find out how, but the spelldrives _ can _ be recharged. I’ve been spending the past few months getting them to full power just for this occasion.’

‘What occasion?’

Although he looked away from her, he knew he couldn’t lie. She would see right through him.

‘Preparing,’ he said tentatively. ‘Just in case.’

‘Preparing for what?’ 

Given her expression, she already knew the answer. Still, she waited him out, and Dib felt his face flush hot. 

‘For when Zim…’ he attempted. ‘For when his kind come back, and, you know, try to take over.’

Gaz tilted her head to the side, and crossed her arms over her chest. To disguise his embarrassment, Dib began the process of lifting the drives out of his wardrobe and carefully placing them into the duffle bag he had lying open on his bed.

‘I thought you and Zim were friends now,’ Gaz said.

Dib caught a laugh in his throat, the sound abrupt and cold. ‘He’s not exactly my "friend".’

‘You go to his house everyday after school.’

‘Only because I needed to download data from his base onto the spelldrives.’

‘And, what? You’ve both been sitting there this whole time, not talking?’

‘No, of course we _ talk _ -’

‘About what?’

‘It doesn’t matter, Gaz! Zim’s obsessed with trying to contact his leaders again and I just know the second he does, they’re going to come straight here.’ Dib clicked his tongue, securing the last drive into the bag. ‘I’ll have to explain more on the way. Are you coming or not?’

He zipped the bag closed and hoisted it onto his shoulder. Gaz just stood there, one eyebrow arching.

‘We can’t leave,’ she said slowly, ‘remember?’

‘Not on our own,’ said Dib, easing his way past her. ‘But maybe if we _ both _ try…’

Presuming their Dad wouldn’t expect them to ever try to leave the house together (with the exception of school) was a good idea first. With both of them avoiding his elaborate measures to keep them indoors, they were at the end of the garden path in no time, tripping over each other to step foot on the sidewalk, laser lights beaming behind them, and alarms blaring. Until at the last second, a portion of the grass on either side of the stone pavement retracted back to reveal two robotic arms. Not able to distinguish Dib and Gaz as two separate people, a pair of cuffs were slapped to both of them, one wrist in each restraint. A red glow lit up around the wire tying them together, a ticker tape message running along its length.

‘Return… Home… To… Disable,’ Dib spelled out.

‘Or what?’ Gaz quipped.

‘48-Hour… Lockdown… In effect -’

‘I can _ read_.’

‘Is Dad for real? If we go back in, we’ll be trapped at home for the _ whole _ weekend? Well, it’s fine, I guess... We’re out now -’

Gaz clenched her teeth behind her lips, a growl purring out of her throat. ‘But I’m _ attached _ to you.’ She moved further into the road, dragging Dib with her, their house lit up red inside and out, car alarms tripped in the street from all the ruckus of their escape. ‘No. No way. You’re _ not _ruining this for me again, Dib -’

‘Gaz, relax. We have plenty of time. It won’t take long for us to bury these drives and then we can -’

She turned on her heel, forcing Dib to trail behind. Every time he stopped to resist, she stood her ground, yanking him along with the cuff wire.

‘C’mon! Be reasonable! We’ll be waiting in line for your game all night -’

‘Yeah, and _ then _ we can bury your stupid spelldrives. So keep quiet, and _ don’t _ get in my way.’


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of life getting in the way, but I promise I'm writing as quickly as I can. Thanks again for comments and kudos - I love to hear your thoughts!

Everyone on the bridge except the Tallest had to be silent. The console, however, was another matter; an alert indicated another transmission attempting to come through. A red, intermittent blinkering, dull-toned, and in the stillness and quiet of the hull, loud enough to attract attention.

‘It’s obvious that you aren’t taking us seriously.’

‘Of course we are.’ Tallest Red tilted to find the source of the noise, one of the Irkens at the controls taking it as a cue to kill the hailing call. ‘I’m sure we can work something out -’

‘Work something out?’

The Vortian on the screen leaned forward, her sharp-eyed silhouette covering the distorted surroundings of her own ship.

‘The only thing we’ll be “working out” is our freedom. You’ve heard our terms. We won’t accept resistance.’

Without having to be commanded, all of the hard-edged Vortian ships circling the Super Massive revealed their weapons. Again, the console trilled with the invitation of another transmission. Tallest Red curled in his fingers.

As of a few hours ago, the Super Massive had been powering through space, unseen and unheard. Operation Impending Doom II had continued with fervour, the past four years marking the revolutionary development of triggering the cannon sweeps from a ship that could not be perceived by anybody on the conquered planet. The successful Invader would leave their assignment, and from the bridge of the Super Massive, watch the species they had subjugated disintegrate, eyes and mouths open in horror as hellish beams of light appeared out of the very atmosphere. 

A reckoning from their Gods.

With this new technology, the Irken Armada no longer had enemies. They were forever unexpected, unforeseen, and underestimated. Better yet, with this imperceptible cloak, the Tallest had the ability to pick and choose who could hail the Super Massive, and the first Irken they wanted to stop from doing that was none other than Zim.

And yet, four years of peace had so suddenly been shattered. The pilots and engineers around the ship were working overtime to fix the problem, but their efforts already felt too late. Minutes after the Super Massive had become visible, Vortian ships materialised at alarming speed, surrounding the armada from all angles. Not to mention the increasingly annoying communication attempts fighting to cut through their communicators.

As if feeling she had already won, the Vortian - speaking to them via a transmission signal previously unavailable to her - clasped her hands together.

‘Don’t be fools.’

‘What’s a handful of your ships against the Irken Armada?’ said Tallest Purple, bristling. ‘Your people should know when they’ve been conquered.’

As fast as the intercepting transmission was cut, another sequence of beeps began, the responding Irken not quick enough to intercept the sound from reaching the Vortian addressing them. She reclined, fingers locked together, eyes narrowing.

‘We’re not outmatched,’ she said. ‘Not across the rest of your empire. Fire on us. I dare you.’

Tallest Purple pointed. ‘We accept that dare.’

Before anyone could warm up the Massive’s weaponry, Tallest Red swept out his arm, ordering everyone to halt.

‘Revise your terms, and we’ll _ consider _ a re-negotiation of your servitude.’

‘No revisions. Give us what we want, or you’ll start a war you cannot win.’

‘Who says we _ can’t _ win it?’ Tallest Purple intoned.

‘Maybe you should answer that call,’ said the Vortian, mouth splitting into a grin. ‘It’s obviously important.’

‘The answer is no,’ said Tallest Red.

He was tense, teeth clenched, one antenna flicking in sync with the endless drone of the console.

The Vortian straightened. ‘To you answering the call?’

‘To your _ terms _.’

‘My Almighty Tallest,’ said one of the operators, brow creased as he tapped and swiped his screen, ‘something is preventing me from silencing the signal -’

‘I order you not to accept that transmission,’ Tallest Red spat, turning on him.

‘I’m trying, but -’

Suddenly, the image of the Vortian disappeared with a snap. A black screen met them, the ships outside hovering among the stars. As motionless as all of the Irkens in the command hull of the Super Massive. Until their transmission screen lit up again. Snaking, purple wires and mismatched equipment spilled into the frame, the Irken staring out at them wide-eyed, leaning in close.

‘My Tallest!’ he exclaimed, so close now he was just a pair of huge, red eyes. ‘My Tallest, is it really you?! In front of Zim, after all this time?!’

‘_Zim _,’ said Tallest Red, exasperated, ‘what in the - ?!’

‘Hey,’ said Tallest Purple. ‘I thought we blocked him.’

‘My Tallest, I have been trying to contact you now for so long -’

‘Get off the line,’ Tallest Red snapped.

‘Yeah,’ Purple said, ‘we’re in the middle of blowing something up.’

‘No we’re not.’

‘Not _ yet. _’

‘But, my Tallest, I have to tell you -’

‘There is nothing you could tell us that we’d wanna hear, Zim! Cut your transmission. That’s a _ direct order _.’

A frantic wave of the hand was enough for Tallest Red to get the Irkens manning the ship to work on shutting off Zim’s transmission. Heads down, they worked their fingers, the console refusing attempt after attempt. Zim watched on, head tilted, antennae crooked.

‘Are you not pleased to see Zim? You should know that _ I _ have been the only one to search for you, my Tallest. All of the other Invaders were too busy conquering their given worlds to spare energy for the search effort.’

Purple hiccoughed a laugh, quick to put his hands over his mouth even though it did little to disguise his amusement.

‘Because that’s their _ job _,’ Tallest Red spat.

There was a twitch developing in his left eye. He glanced out of the windows. The Vortian ships were looming closer, pressing in so close to the armada, the smaller vessels were in danger of being hit into. Tallest Red emitted a strangled noise.

‘Get us out of here already!’

‘Sirs, we can’t,’ one of the Irken attendants said, ‘the Super Massive isn’t responding to any of our commands -’

‘Another ingenious intervention of mine,’ Zim cried. ‘I had to take over your ship to properly locate you, my Tallest, on account of the cloaking thingy.’

Tallest Purple’s amusement died with an infuriated noise.

‘Zim,’ said Tallest Red, rigid with fury, ‘I don’t know how many times we have to say this - directly or indirectly - for you to get it through your thick skull. We want _ nothing _ to do with you. Now cut your call and return control of this vessel to us or so help me -’

‘Of course, my Tallest,’ Zim said, his fingers quick at his computer. ‘Now that I have found you, I don’t need to… Eh, I can just - One moment -’

‘What are you doing?!’ Red cried.

Zim’s antennae were flat to his head, his whole body tense as he tapped and swiped with increasing panic. ‘I-I’ve been locked out somehow -’

Trembling with rage, Tallest Red left the command post to shove the smaller Irkens aside. Tallest Purple redirected his open-mouthed shock to the screen, where their vision of Zim became distorted, another transmission bleeding through over the top.

‘Nice work, Irken Zim,’ they could hear the Vortian saying. ‘Always so… Dependable.’

Zim’s antennae perked up at the sound of his own name, but then the visual of him was gone. Tallest Red paused his probings into the Super Massive’s more intricate internal systems; foreign code bled into the Irken data, manipulating the letters and numbers, slowly overwriting what had already been written.

At that exact moment, the transmission screen cut out. As did all of the Super Massive’s computers. Destabilised, the ship tilted, threatening to swing into the nearest Vortian ship. Tallest Purple teetered to one side, all of the Irkens behind the console similarly sliding to the right, Tallest Red acting as a stopper at the end of the row as they all bunched together. The Vortian vessels crept closer, a great shudder erupting through the whole hull.

‘What on Irk was that?!’ Purple cried.

He was clinging to a section of the railing that separated their command podium from the various consoles that steered and operated the ship.

‘Sirs,’ one of the Irken staff piped up, ‘I think that was the sound of the Vortians attempting to board...’

* * *

Zim stared at the monitor, his own reflection staring back in the dull slate black of the inert screen.

‘Computer, what happened? Why can I not see the Tallest?’

No answer. His antennae flicked upright; there was no longer any humming, thrumming, beeping, or breathing - all of the white noise he had become accustomed to in the base had dropped away, as if out of his hearing range.

‘Computer?’

Still nothing. Zim slipped down from his chair, running to the nearest transporter.

He tapped his foot, waiting. Clearly, there was no pallet coming.

He bit back a growl, four appendages extending from his Pak; the sharp points of the extra legs helped him gain purchase on the walls. There was a vent designed exactly for this purpose, one of several ports into a network of manually accessible tunnels that all fed into the transporter tubes one way or another. 

Soon enough, he was on the top level of the base, clambering out of the trash can in the kitchen to look for GIR. Dressed in his disguise, the hood pulled down, Zim was relieved to find his SIR unit on the couch right where he had been left. The only difference was that the television was no longer switched on. 

‘GIR,’ Zim said, standing in front of him. ‘What have you touched this time?’

GIR lay there, his optics as dull as the metal that made up his body.

‘Stop playing dead,’ he ordered. ‘That trick only works on the humans, remember?’

When no response came, Zim clicked his tongue, muttering as he reached out to turn GIR on his back. He dropped limply, his head tilting so that he was facing the back of the couch.

‘This isn’t funny, GIR. I need your help to fix the base.’ Zim put his hand to his chin. ‘Maybe we’ve lost power somehow…’

No movement. No verbal response.

‘GIR,’ Zim snapped.

He reached over, picking the robot up and holding him out. Just as Zim was considering shaking a reaction out of him, GIR’s head fell back, his body too slack for him to be anywhere close to fully functioning.

A noise of discontentment caught in Zim’s throat. ‘Now I have to fix _ you_, too.’

To make carrying him easier, Zim brought GIR close to his chest so that the SIR unit’s head rested on his shoulder. He marched into the kitchen, past the breakfast table, and opened up the fridge to access the transporter tube inside. He was able to slide most of the way, spear-shaped accessories from his Pak generating a spherical barrier that kept himself and GIR contained as they sped down and around the base. 

Once on the relevant level, he rushed to the nearest console. Gently, he set GIR on the floor beside his chair, intending to scour the programme Prisoner 777 had sent him to commandeer the Super Massive. But of course the computer was unresponsive. Something must have happened to short out his technology. But what…?

‘No matter,’ he said to himself, dusting off his tunic. ‘I am Zim! I can fix this. I just need to figure out how to restore power to the base, then I can contact the Tallest again and - yes. Everything will be fine, GIR! You just… sit there! I’ll be back!’

He rushed off, mind whirring with idea after idea. He had already waited four years to speak to the Tallest again. What were a few more hours?

* * *

Midnight came and went. They were inching closer to the front desk, Dib’s shoulder aching under the weight of the duffel bag. Every so often, he was forced to pull Gaz’s hand with him to adjust the strap. Her glaring only got harsher every time he did it.

‘Well, at least when we’re done, we can just go home,’ he said tiredly.

‘I’m not going home,’ Gaz said.

‘But we can’t be stuck like this. Think of the logistics, Gaz. How are we meant to eat? Or go to the bathroom, or - ?’

‘Listen. If we go home tonight, we’ll be stuck inside all weekend. But if we go back on Monday, we’ll get two extra days off school.’

Dib considered this, frowning. He _ did _ hate school… and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d skipped a full day or two of classes. As for Gaz… She was about to get her hands on a new gaming console. No doubt she was going to spend the time racking up the hours in the newest iteration of Vampire Piggy Hunter. 

The line moved up, both of them stepping forward in tandem.

‘It’s a good idea, right?’ she checked.

‘Yeah, but… What are we meant to do about the cuffs in the meantime?’

‘Maybe your friend Zim could help.’

‘You’re kidding.’

‘What do you suggest we do instead?’

Finally, it was their turn. Gaz approached the desk, Dib dogging her steps, his posture a little crooked thanks to the extra weight of the duffel bag. Moments later, they were leaving the store and picking their way through the mall in search of the exit. For once, Gaz seemed cheerful, her new Game Slave console gripped tight in her non-cuffed hand, the bag swaying a little as she walked. Their footsteps echoed around, the window glass in the empty shops turned to mirrors in the absence of light.

‘So where are we burying your nerd drives.’

‘Spelldrives, Gaz, and I already have places mapped out.’

Without thinking, he reached for his bag, jerking Gaz closer to him so that their shoulders bumped.

‘Sorry,’ Dib said in answer to her sharp glare. ‘I just need to -’

‘Then put the bag down first,’ she said through gritted teeth.

Dib looked about himself, checking they weren’t in anybody’s way. The exit was just up ahead. Sheltering under the awning of a nearby ice cream parlour, he lowered himself onto his knees, Gaz following suit, then slid the bag to be in front of them. Gaz let go of her Game Slave momentarily to pull back the zip. The spelldrive Dib needed was right on top - he opened the cover, and a piece of paper slipped out.

‘I need to bury one drive everywhere there’s an X.’

‘Oh, man,’ Gaz said, unfolding the map. ‘This’ll take forever.’

Dib pointed to the additional notes he had made in the margins. ‘If we take these two buses and make it back in time for each follow-up service, I think we’ll be done in say… no more more than two hours.’

‘Two _ hours_?’

‘I just waited longer than that for you to get your game!’

‘Yeah, but that was necessary. Why are you doing this again?’

‘Because of Zim! To stop the invasion -’

‘Zim’s never gonna take over the world,’ Gaz said, as cool as ever. ‘Even his best plan failed, and all of those spaceships he called were sucked into that florpus thing.’

‘Yeah, but they’ll be out by now, I just know it -’

Gaz sighed, a soft groan easing from her throat. ‘Look… I thought we’d talked about this…’

‘I’m not _ fighting _ with Zim anymore,’ Dib said, snatching his map off her and re-folding it.

‘Yeah, but you’re still so obsessed -’

‘What, like you are, with your video games? And Dad, with his science? This isn’t an obsession, Gaz, it’s me trying to do what’s _ right _ , and doing what nobody else apparently seems capable of doing.’ He slammed the spelldrive shut, the zip on the duffel bag catching as he tried to pull it closed. ‘And if it hadn’t been for you, Dad, and I last time, Zim’s “best plan” wouldn’t have failed either. We had to _ do _ something to stop it. Don’t you see?’

The whole time he spoke, he was trying to wrest the zipper along, the sound of the jagged grooves sticking loud in the stillness of the mall. Every struggling rip grated on his nerves, set his teeth on edge. 

‘And even before all of that, Dad got sent to space prison, and there was a whole army of robots waiting for us when we got back, and I can’t - I -’ 

His fingertips were too warm and damp to get a proper grip. Frustrated, Dib pushed at the bag, the drives rattling against each other inside. There was a tremor in his hands again. In his whole body, like his blood was rushing ten times too fast, plucking a recollection into thought of Zim towering over him, extended on spindly, crooked legs, the sharp points of the front two rearing up like pincers, and his eyes blood red, slitted with rage.

‘I can’t let that happen again,’ Dib said, all in a rush, voice trembling, ‘I can’t, I…’

He sniffed, feeling over warm all of a sudden. Without a word, Gaz leaned over, Dib’s left arm anchored to her right as she unstuck the zip, and finished closing the bag for him.

‘Then I guess we should go bury your spelldrives, huh?’

Her mouth quirked into a faint smile, and Dib felt awash with relief. Together, they got to their feet, and Dib reached down to pick up the duffel bag.

‘...Thanks, Gaz,’ he said as they headed for the exit.

She hummed a laugh. Or maybe it was a growl. 

‘Whatever…’


	5. Chapter 5

‘Where do you think the others are?’

Irkens didn’t need to breathe, and yet Red felt short of breath. He couldn’t even turn his neck to look at Purple. The pull on his arms from the weight of his hanging carapace was agony.

‘Hopefully… Not dead…’

From the sound of his voice, Purple was clearly struggling. Red again tried to move his fingers. A cry wrenched up his throat as he tipped his head back to get a better look at the restraints holding them up. They had been in darkness for so long now, he had lost all concept of time. Had it been hours, or days? 

Their bodies weren’t designed to be held straight like this. The suits given to them when they were made Tallest were the only true burden of the job. Or so Red had once thought. Being kidnapped by a small army of revolters wasn’t exactly a picnic either.

There was a flash. Red shied away from the bright light. It seemed to seep into every corner of the room, illuminating vague shapes into more solid structures. From the constant, low-toned thrum in the background, Red had already guessed they were on a vessel of some kind. That and the intermittent swaying that made it feel as though his arms were about to wrench free of their sockets.

Once his optical implants had adjusted to the searing light, it was clear they were being transmitted to. The Vortian that had hailed them and started all of this mess, the one responsible for designing the Super Massive in the first place, was the main focus. She was stood to the left of the screen on an elevated podium. There was a line-up behind her of near-identical-looking Irkens. Red recognised their attire immediately, did his best not to let the realisation play with his features. 

All around the podium stood their crew. Restrained, antennae pressed flat to their heads; they were all casting nervous looks at the huge, heavyset guards stationed amongst them.

‘Almighty Tallest,’ the Vortian said, following the address with a spiny-toothed grin, ‘how good of you to join us.’

The most Red could muster was a short, humourless sound.

‘You know what I have here, don’t you?’ 

She walked to the opposite end of the podium, showcasing her findings as though they were offerings at an auction. Her expression then opened into mock concern.

‘Not to undermine your intelligence but... they weren’t hard to find. If anything, there were too many. I’ve cut them down to what I hope will be the best of the bunch. So… Shall we see if these… _elite_ assassins live up to one’s expectations?’

‘They won’t… answer to you,’ said Purple.

Red could hear his partner’s amusement. A sharp bite in his tone, even though his pain was more obvious. The Vortian answered with a flat expression.

‘I was hoping for more stimulating conversation. Please tell me you’ve at least taken note of how many I've kept alive. It’s a very… significant number.’

‘Or maybe you could shut up and get to your point,’ Red sniped.

She smirked. ‘I can see you’re not in the mood to play with me. Very well. I have one assassin here for every one of your Invaders. Surely you can fill in the gaps.’ Arms folded, she began tapping her foot as if to mimic the ticking of a clock. ‘Trust me. You really don’t have all night.’

‘It’s not like you can make us,’ said Red.

The Vortian tilted her head, brow wrinkling. She raised her hand, the gesture vague enough that Red didn’t feel overly alarmed. Until one of the guards in the surrounding crowd snapped to attention. It reached for the nearest of the Irken pilots, palm big enough to engulf the entirety of her Pak, fingers curling around her small body. A nervous energy jostled the other pilots and ship crew.

Red knew what was going to happen. Even though he couldn’t turn his head to check for Purple’s reaction, he was sure they were both aware of the protocol here. 

Neither of them said anything. 

They were allowed a few more moments to reconsider, and then the guard tightened its grip. There was a crack - the Irken squirmed, screaming. Tipping her face-down, the guard bared her crushed Pak, then pinched hold with just its forefinger and thumb, plucking the Pak free with a sickening, tearing sound. The guard dropped the Irken to the floor, then pressed down on her with one heavy foot.

All eyes were on the Tallest. There was still time. 

Red kept his tongue. Beside him, Purple was also silent. 

Eventually understanding, the Vortian nodded to the guard. Its fingers constricted around the Pak, the casing splintering into shards. The Irken under its feet let out an anguished cry, the others trembling with open fear.

‘You’re asking us to make a decision outside of our jurisdiction,’ Red voiced, unable to mask his own panic.

‘But these assassins only respond to _your_ voice patterns,’ the Vortian said.

As if to seek confirmation, she turned in a circle, inviting the ship crew into the conversation. Of course, none of them dared speak. Red’s chest tightened, his anger burning hot.

‘On orders. From the Control Brains.’

The Vortian shrugged. Made another gesture. A second guard gathered up its chosen Irken, slamming them to the ground, heaving to remove their Pak.

‘We’re already in the process of infiltrating your _true_ leaders’ chambers,’ said the Vortian. ‘Their judgement will be the least of your worries once we’re done here. When we’ve unplugged every last Pak from your crew, we’ll start on the civilians we’re rounding up on Irk. There’ll be none of you left, save for your Invaders. You might not like it, but I’m giving you a choice. One you never afforded our kind. So what will it be, _My Tallest_? Extinction? Or enslavement?’

The second Irken was detached from their Pak, the first limp on the ground, her eyes wide, antennae twitching. Just as the guard lunged for a third victim, Purple cleared his throat.

‘We'll do it,' he said faintly. 'I'll give the orders.'

Red jerked, alarmed, finding the strength to turn and look at Purple. But he stared resolutely ahead. Ignoring him.

Delight lit-up the Vortian's face. She turned as the first assassin in the line-up stepped into clearer view, aglow beneath the overhead lights. His eyes were his most expressive feature, the raised collar of his uniform meeting a drowning hood, his antennae poking out through the top.

Purple squinted, reading the number etched into the chest piece of assassin's tunic. 'Assassin 36... Your next assignment... planet Meekrob. Deactivate... Invader Tenn...'

All of the assassin's reluctance was held in his gaze, his movement rigid as he lifted his arm in salute.

'What are you doing?' Red wheezed. 'They'll kill us.'

Purple dropped his chin to his chest. ‘These assassins,’ he said, ‘aren’t the only thing they… need our voices for...’

‘I’m not talking about the Vortians,’ Red hissed.

But that wasn’t enough to stop his co-leader. Monotonously, Purple ordered on the rest of the assassins. The two unlucky Irkens relieved of their Paks were already dying out, their eyes dull and lifeless, bodies prone. Red could see himself and Purple in the same position. Their personalities, forever erased. They were supposed to protect the Irken way of life. Rolling over for Vortian terrorists was not a crime the Control Brains would empathise with, or readily forgive. Red couldn’t help but think they should have kept on refusing the Vortian. As if she had already infiltrated Irk. This was a sham resistance - he knew for a fact the Vortians didn't have the numbers needed to launch an assault of that magnitude. It was hard to forget - one of their first acts as Tallest after capturing Vort was to cull all of their young and stamp out dissenters. Purple _knew_ this - even if Red could talk to him freely, he shouldn't have had to remind him. What was he playing at?

Only one assassin remained. She was trembling, the rest of her ilk gone in pursuit of their targets.

‘That’s… all,’ Purple said, confused. ‘All of them…’

‘Not quite,’ said the Vortian. There was a twitch from the horns protruding out of her scalp. ‘Of all the Invaders, I figured you’d want to kill this last one the most.’

‘_Zim_?’ Red intoned.

‘But he’s not even… a real Invader...’ Purple managed.

‘He helped you,’ Red pointed out. ‘In fact, I’m surprised he’s not right there at your side -’

‘Never trust an Irken,’ the Vortian cut in. ‘Zim is a loose end we want cauterised. So go on. One more time, My _Tallest_. Tell your assassin where you want her to go. Tell her what you want her to do.’

* * *

When they got to Zim’s house, dry dirt was dusting their clothes, their skin, their hair - everywhere. But the drives were buried all save for one, the duffel bag considerably lighter on Dib’s shoulder. Night was threatening to tip into day, the sky muddy and missing its stars. He held his breath and knocked carefully. The whole street was in total silence.

When no answer came, Gaz knocked twice as loud. There was a thump from inside. Then a groan.

‘Zim?’ Dib said quietly, bringing his ear to the door. ‘Is that you?’

The door cracked open.

‘Who else would it be?’

Several feet beneath them was Zim, or rather a slim strip of him through the gap in the door. Even four years on, his human disguise hadn’t changed.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded, raking his gaze up and down Dib’s frame, then eyeing Gaz suspiciously. ‘All of the other Urth filthies are _ sleeping_.’

‘We wanted to see you,’ Gaz said.

Zim blinked, eyes widening for just a moment until the suspicion returned.

‘Actually, Zim, we could really use your help,’ Dib said, showing off his wrist.

The cuffs were still emitting a red glow and repeating the same ticker tape text that had been there since he and Gaz had ended up fastened together.

‘Help? From Zim? Right now?!’

‘It’s not like you’re busy,’ Gaz said. 

She kicked the door open wide, staggering Zim several steps back. Dib followed Gaz inside sheepishly, until the sight of Zim’s living room hit him. The place was a mess. Not as bad as it was before the florpus, but there was a half-empty bucket of popcorn spilling off the sofa, and various candies stuck to one portion of the back seat. None of the lights were on save for the television, a telemarketing channel offering muted conversation in the background. A can of soda dribbled a sticky, dark mark across the carpet, which Gaz deftly avoided as she put down her bag; it wasn’t like Zim to leave his house this untidy. He was usually quick to pick up after GIR, if not to order him to clean up after himself.

‘Where’s your robot dog?’ Dib asked casually, slipping the duffel bag off his shoulder to put next to Gaz's game console.

‘GIR is out on important business,’ Zim snapped.

‘What kind of business?’

Although Dib was trying to keep his cool, he could tell Zim had detected the sharpening of his tone. He appeared to stiffen, one eye narrowing.

‘You dare to question Zim?! After that humiliating promise ritual?!’

‘I’m not _ questioning _ you, Zim, I’m just trying to make conversation -’

Gaz cut in with a guttural noise, teeth clenched, mouth twitching. She yanked Dib forward a few steps to show Zim the cuffs. 

‘You can get these off, right?’

Zim leaned forward, expression no less cynical. 

‘...Yes.’

‘Well?’ Gaz prompted.

‘Oh,’ he said, straightening, ‘but I’m not going to.’

Gaz’s fingers curled in on themselves. ‘Zim…’

‘You and the Dib-thing being trapped by your own Urth toys is hardly my concern!’

‘They’re not a toy,’ Dib put in. ‘They’re a… deterrent, of my Dad’s. To stop us from being out after curfew.’

‘And if we don’t get them off before sunrise, they’ll explode,’ said Gaz.

Dib glanced at her; of all the lies, to think she'd give one so convenient… Although, he supposed as well, if Zim knew going home would disable the cuffs, he would just make them leave, and they would be trapped inside until Monday. Ever since Gaz had proposed those extra days off school, Dib really didn’t want to give them up. If that meant being out all weekend, then so be it.

In response, Zim’s shoulders started to shake. His soft chuckling soon became full blown, mocking laughter. Dib tensed, the sound going right through him.

‘It’s not funny! Not when you remember that that'll mean for _you_!’

Zim's eyes were like saucers, his laughter stopping immediately.

‘Whatever,’ Gaz then said, nudging Dib with her elbow, ‘I bet he couldn’t get them off anyway. I told you this would be a waste of time.’

‘Fools,’ Zim spat, recovering, ‘your earth technology is so weak, an Irken smeet could remove those even before being activated. Zim will free you from your parent’s _ deterrent_. Watch, and be amazed!’

He reached behind himself, rummaging in his Pak for a moment before bringing out what looked like some kind of lock-picking device.

‘Sit,’ he commanded.

As Gaz trudged over to the chair, Dib at her heels, she offered her brother a wry smirk. They perched beside each other on the couch, Gaz to the right so that Dib had to sit on the section sticky with sweets and popcorn. He flicked what he could out of the way before getting comfortable.

Zim followed after them, tool raised, an unrestrained joy in his eyes that was too close to revelry for Dib’s liking. His stomach knotted; it was only to avoid Gaz’s wrath that he didn’t withdraw his arm and refuse the help.

‘Be still while Zim works...'

He stood in the space left between them, his fingers light on Dib’s wrist skin as he looked for a place to start picking with the tool. Despite the worry, Dib couldn’t help but watch. Zim was ham-fisted at everything else in his life except for when he was making or building something. Over the months of their truce, Dib had had plenty of opportunities to observe him tinkering, but the Irken was yet to trust him enough to let him examine or use any of the tools at his disposal. Even if they _ were _ outdated and faulty, Dib wouldn’t pass up a chance to work on more than just Tak’s ship.

When he had done all he could with Dib’s side of the cuffs, Zim turned to work on Gaz’s half. She was less interested, one elbow propped on the arm of the sofa as she watched the presenter on television showing off a bottle of perfume. The volume was so low, Dib couldn’t hear most of it, a ghostly glow flashing over them as Zim muttered to himself in low, alien tones.

Gaz glanced at him. 

‘Hey Zim,’ she said, ‘you look pretty sick.’

Blunt, as usual. Dib felt his insides twist at the awkwardness.

‘Zim is not _ sick _ -’

‘So how come you look so tired out?’

‘He can’t stomach the food here,’ Dib answered.

A small shred of glee oozed out in his urgency to end the conversation. Residual joy, from when Dib had first seen him in that state. It had prompted a new theory - perhaps Zim would starve to death before he could orchestrate his invasion. For a while, Dib felt as though he could relax - he just had to wait Zim out.

But it seemed Irkens were built to outlast. 

Zim was a little thinner than usual, and slower to react if caught in the wrong mood, but otherwise, not being able to eat his own food wasn’t killing him off as quickly as the kind of starvation humans could suffer.

Still, it was clear he hated this observation Dib had made. Teeth bared, he offered only a sharp hiss in answer. He bent closer to the cuffs, slipping his fingers under the bracelet at Gaz’s wrist. 

‘As if I would pollute myself with the filth you _ humans _ subsist on.’

Dib couldn’t resist. ‘Weren’t you and your dog-robot eating waffles just last week -’

‘Silence!’ Zim snapped. ‘I need to concentrate.’

After a little more fiddling, there was a click. The cuffs snapped open, releasing them both. Relieved, Dib rubbed at where the restraints had pressed into his bones.

‘There,’ Zim said, stepping backwards. ‘Too easy!’

Gaz stretched out her arm, examining herself. 

‘Nice. Thanks, Zim.’

He waved away her gratitude and returned the picking tool to his Pak.

‘You can both go now, then, yes?’

‘Or we could stay,’ Gaz suggested. ‘See, if Dib and I go home, we’ll be on a 48-hour lockdown.’

Zim frowned. ‘So?’

‘So… You and Dib _ are _ friends, right? ‘Cause friends are supposed to help each other out.’

Dib turned his head away, his face flushing hot. They were on speaking terms, but they weren’t anywhere close to calling each other _ friends _. His shoulders lifted to his ears; he expected Zim to put Gaz straight, to argue against the label she had put upon them, to make things difficult, like he always did. Daring to flick a glance at him, Dib instead saw conflicting expressions play out over Zim’s features. He clenched his fists, chest puffed out. He was going to start shouting. Any minute…

‘F… _ Fine _.’ 

Dib blinked, turning his head to look at him properly. Zim was holding out his hand, staring at his own palm.

‘Zim will continue to honour this disgusting _ friendship _ pact,' he said, but his reluctance was plain. He then wiggled his fingers in gesture to where Gaz was sitting. ‘Move.’

She didn’t complain, shuffling closer to Dib so that he had to edge nearer the mess GIR had left behind.

‘You’re watching TV?’ he questioned, trying not to grimace. ‘What about finding your leaders?’

Zim ignored him, climbing up into the space beside Gaz then settling on the chair arm. Sharp, brief palpitations kicked at Dib’s heartbeat.

‘Or have you found them already?’

‘Stop talking,’ Zim snapped. ‘I’m tryna watch.’

‘Yeah, Dib,’ Gaz joined in, smirking. ‘We’re tryna watch.’

A transitional animation led them into a new showcase of products, several pairs of high-heeled shoes drifting across the screen. With the volume so low, and the rest of Zim’s house so quiet, Dib was even too scared to swallow in case the sound of his throat sticking drowned everything else out.

‘Okay,’ he said, ‘this is just weird.’

‘What’s weird?’ Gaz challenged.

‘We’re really all just sitting here, watching TV?’

‘Well, what else is there to do?’

Gaz then blinked, eyes widening.

‘I guess we could play some video games.’ She got up from the sofa, searching for her Game-Slave X; it was next to Dib’s duffel bag at his side of the sofa. ‘I’ve only got two controllers, but we could take turns.’

This at least seemed to wrest Zim’s attention away from the television screen.

‘What kinda games you got?’

The repeated tapping of the same button was starting to make Dib’s thumb hurt. He clenched his jaw, turning the whole controller as though the movement would encourage his avatar to do better at beating up Zim’s. No such luck. His character was struck with one final move, launching her skyward, large text declaring the winner after three rounds of punishment. Dib threw the controller to the opposite end of the couch. Gaz’s head dropped back as she laughed, Zim standing on the sofa arm, his hands in the air in a victory pose.

‘_P__athetic _, Dib! I could beat you at this with my ocular implants torn out!’

Dib scowled, arms folded across his chest. ‘You’re only winning because I’m tired, Zim, and you’ve yet to beat Gaz all night!’

Gaz stretched, ‘All morning, you mean.’ She glanced around Zim’s living room. ‘You don’t have an upstairs?’

‘Of course Zim has _ upstairs_,’ he said, ‘where else would I keep the voot runner?’

Dib rubbed at his eyes with his palms. ‘She means bedrooms and a bathroom, Zim.’

‘It’s fine,’ said Gaz. ‘I guess we could just sleep on the couch. It’s too warm for blankets anyway.’

Zim perched on the edge of the sofa arm. ‘You’re sleeping? Already?!’

‘Yeah,’ Gaz scowled. ‘Got a problem with that?’

The question seemed to stump him. He looked down at the gaming controller in his hands, then at the television, then again at Gaz. She was already lying down - they had switched positions earlier, Dib now in the middle after they’d unstuck all of GIR’s sweets from the couch. Gaz kicked at Dib’s legs, eventually lying her feet in his lap to get herself comfortable.

‘You think you can sleep? Here?! In my home?’ Zim pressed. ‘What does that leave _ me _ to do until you come back?’

His outrage was tinged with a different emotion, one Dib couldn’t quite place. Desperation, maybe? Was Zim… upset?

‘You can keep playing if you want,’ Gaz said around a yawn.

‘Actually I’m, uh, not as tired as I thought,’ Dib put in, an idea striking him. ‘Maybe we could go down to your base? You could show me your new ideas for contacting your leaders -’

‘No,’ said Zim quickly. ‘Let Zim beat you again at this… _Vampire Piggy Hunter_:_Versus_.’

Dib sighed. Figured. ‘Nah… I’m pretty bored of that now.’

‘You’re only bored because you’re losing, Dib-beast!’

‘Well since you’re so much better than me, you can play it by yourself.’

‘Coward! I thought you weren’t tired?!’

Dib dragged his hands down his face. Zim was so difficult. Almost like a child, but of course, he _ wasn’t _ one. At least not in Earth terms. Zim had said before that he had been piloting ships and living his life long before Dib himself had even been born. And yet his behaviour was not anything like how Dib would expect an ancient alien to act. He hadn’t been able to see it in his youth, but the older he got, the less mature Zim was to him. 

‘Can’t we just watch TV together or something?’ he attempted.

Zim grumbled, but switched off the Game-Slave X and put on the television once more. They were back to telemarketing, now advertising weight sets.

Dib arched an eyebrow. ‘Don’t you have any other channels?’

‘You don’t command Zim!’ came the reply, as Zim clambered back up onto the couch. 

He sat again on the sofa arm, his legs dangling over the edge. So as not to lean too close to him, Dib rested against the chair back. He kept his arms crossed, drawing in his elbows to avoid them touching; Zim would no doubt be quick to demand his personal space back, even if any nudging or brushing of the skin was accidental.

The warmth in Zim’s house was stifling. Dib closed his eyes, trying to ignore the stickiness under his arms and the way his legs ached, anchored under Gaz’s feet. She was already asleep; he cracked one eye open to check on her, having felt the little jolts of her body relaxing. Always a tell-tale sign that she was out for the count. Dib then flinched, caught by a movement to his left.

Zim had been staring at him.

‘If - If you are going to recharge, then do it now,’ he said, a tinge of colour darkening his cheeks. ‘All of your fidgeting and twitching - it’s distracting.’

‘Then quit _ watching_.’

‘Insolent human.’ He returned his gaze to television once more. ‘Zim does not watch _ you_. As if Zim would ever -’

Dib squeezed his eyes shut, turned his face away, shut out Zim’s insane muttering. He felt lucky in a way that his mind was too buzzed to switch off. There was no way he could relax here in Zim’s base. If he went to sleep, then who would protect Gaz? His heart sank, an unwanted thought twisting into his consciousness. Sucking a breath through his teeth, he tightened his grip on his arms, every part of him tense.

And yet, still, exhaustion prevailed. Everything shut off.

Until the next thing he knew, he was being startled awake.


	6. Chapter 6

The taste of copper was in his mouth. Dib parted his lips, and a torrent spilled out.

_ What am I doing? _

His stomach heaved. Spluttering, he looked up, nerves strung with every clatter and click. Zim was recovering. Or at least, his Pak was. His body hung limp off the end of the four, sharp legs, arms swaying, head down.

‘Maybe,’ Dib gasped, fingers finding the gash at his side, ‘Maybe we should stop -’

There was a harsh buzz, the Pak spasming Zim into consciousness. A translucent, pinkish liquid lined the grooves of his teeth, dripping to the floor with a rhythmic splatter.

‘I’m sorry,’ Dib attempted.

‘Why,  _ Dib _ ?’

Zim’s mouth split into a grin, the pincer-like appendages carrying him forward at an unhinged speed.

‘ _ I _ won’t be.’

When Dib woke up, his shirt was damp and clinging to his skin. Ragged breaths scraped from his lungs. Gaz was right in front of him, her hands clutching his shoulders. 

‘Finally,’ she said, a tinge of hysteria in her voice. ‘I think we need to  _ go _ -’

There was a draught; Dib looked upwards to see a hole in the roof, sucking the morning chill into the room. Right below that was Zim. He was pinned down by what looked like another of his kind, its hands wrapped around his neck, throttling him hard enough to bash the back of his skull against the carpet. Against the pressure, Zim brought his claws to the other Irken’s skin and raked hard, catching one of its eyes, pulling down the fabric covering the bottom half of its face.

Dib exhaled, having forgotten to breathe. Unlike Zim, this Irken had no mouth. Only fused, pale scar tissue. It flinched, drawing back, and once released, Zim scuttled free, his Pak legs raising him up high.

It was hard to tell which of their growls were words and which were just snarls of aggression. Until Zim spoke, glowering at Dib.

‘Get out,’ he spat, ‘you’re in my way!’

The last word was clipped as the other Irken recovered. Zim lunged for his attacker, the Pak legs like squid tentacles, propelling him forwards.

‘This is cool and all,’ Gaz said, raising her voice so Dib would hear her above the ruckus, ‘but if we sit here, we’re gonna be -’

With an unreal strength, the other Irken had lifted the television away from the wall, hauling it to swing at Zim. He ducked, Pak legs catching the carpet and springing him backwards out of range. Following its own momentum, his assailant simply let go of its makeshift weapon - Gaz tensed, pushing Dib into the couch and even though he knew he couldn’t shield her with his body, his arms still instinctively wrapped around her. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing, shouting aloud, ready to feel pain, but there was only a flash, a great blast, hot air slicing over his skin. Shrapnel hit his bare arms, his neck, his face, a sharp, shard-like rain; upon opening his eyes, he saw one of Zim’s Pak appendages had become heated, the remains of charged energy warming the now-barrel-shaped edge.

The distraction cost him. 

He and his attacker collided, a mess of clattering Pak limbs, hisses, and claws; with both having the same eye colour, it soon became hard to tell them apart. Gaz peeled away in a blur, and jarred, Dib unstuck himself from the couch. They couldn’t go to the door without getting in the way of the fight, so he backed-up towards the kitchen, reaching out to grab Gaz by the wrist. She withdrew her arm but followed anyway, reversing to stand beside him under the archway, both of them utterly captivated, until Dib could no longer watch. His hands were at his face, glasses pushed up his brow, his shoulders at his ears. Once he realised what he was doing, he split his fingers apart to look through the gaps, vision vague and blurred. Somehow, Zim had gained the upper hand. The other Irken was on its back, shrinking into itself, Zim straddling it as one of the legs from his Pak drove into its side. Its eyes went alarmingly wide, antennae crushed under its head. Zim growled, lowering his face closer, his attacker’s body contorting as the Pak appendage worked in deeper…

The haze of fury left as suddenly as it had taken him. Zim straightened, both awed and horrified by what he had done. But this was an assassin. Either she died, or he did. And Zim hadn’t lasted on Urth this long to be taken down by a rogue killer. There had to be something defective about this one. Zim had no enemies. None significant enough to be able to sway the Tallest to send one of their best after him, at least.

She was slack under his weight. Wincing, clutching the wound at her side. Zim took her face in his hands, tilting her head, looking her over. Nobody he recognised, and she had no way of communicating with him verbally. He offered clicks, a low, throaty-sounding thrum. Shaking, she lifted her hands. Her gestures were clumsy and slow, but he could pick up the gist of her words.

_ You… fight hard… For one with no mission to fight for. _

Zim narrowed his eyes. ‘Who sent you?’

More gestures.  _ You know who. _

A rush of anger spurted hot up his chest.

‘The Tallest would  never -’

She gave a grunt, twinging in agony. Zim retracted the Pak’s appendages, but it was too late. In temper, he had already driven the sharp edge of one of the legs in too deep, and her body had succumbed. He got up, distanced himself. Just in time for her Pak to buzz in an attempt at jolting her back awake. Ten, long minutes were in store for the memories and personality locked in there, and Zim didn’t have any equipment that would sustain it. Had they been on Irk, there were procedures in place. The Control Brains would have been able to decide whether she truly lived or died. But this far from home, that decision was one left only to the indifference of time.

‘Useless,’ he spat, starting to pace.

‘Zim...’

He spun to face Dib, who, against his orders, had stayed put, his sister beside him. Their skin looked paler than usual.

‘What are you still doing here?!’

‘Who  _ is _ that?’ Dib asked, righting his glasses. ‘What happened?’

Gaz swallowed. ‘Are they dead?’

There was no time to answer either of them. A soft, trilling beep emitted from where the assassin lay, and Zim was quick to find the source. Turning her over onto her front, he found a communications device, snug to the nape of her neck. Rectangular, sharp-edged; this was not Irken technology.

‘What are you doing? What’s going on?’

Dib’s voice, shrill and anxious, sparked fresh irritation in Zim’s chest.

‘If you’re not leaving, then be quiet!'

He plucked the device from the other Irken’s skin, attaching it to himself. His body was seized by a painful stinging shock; wincing, he dropped to his knees, teeth gritted behind his lips. Weakly, he tugged the collar from her clothing, wrapping it around his own face, then positioned himself to keep Gaz and Dib out of the frame. At the last second, before a hologram lit up before his eyes, he tugged back his antennae; his were missing the distinctive curl of the assassin’s, a detail that the Tallest would pick up on.

Of course, Zim was not surprised when the image that materialised in front of him was not one of the Tallest. He was surprised, however, that the caller was not Irken at all.

‘You’re alive.’

Zim gave a brisk nod, blood cooling at the Vortian’s blunt tone. There was something familiar about it...

‘I’ve been notified of the contrary.’

_ A mistake, I assure you. _

‘Then show me.’

Lips quivering, Zim forced his voice to remain lodged in his throat. His confusion left him in a quirk of the head.

‘Show me his body.’

_ There’s nothing of it left, _ Zim signed.

The Vortian’s horns twitched. ‘You were thorough, then.’

Another nod. He was trembling, the thrill of his own genius, his brilliant quick-thinking, fizzing right through him.

‘She… killed him…? She really killed him…?’

Zim’s antennae almost lifted in shock. That was his Tallest’s voice. As the Vortian turned in response, more of the area she was standing in caught the hologram, the pixels dripping over the impressive forms of his Tallest. Impressive, at least, until Zim realised they were not standing. Their arms were being held up over their heads.

They were hanging.

Over what, he couldn’t tell, but his insides churned, recognising the danger.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Red said, eyes half-lidded in his exhaustion. ‘Zim is finally, actually dead?’

Stunned, Zim lifted his hands, fumbling through his impression.

_ Yes, My Tallest. _

Seeing this, the Vortian’s mouth twisted into a grin. Of the two, Purple looked to be dealing the worst with their predicament. His head was resting against his shoulder, antennae kinked, and limp.

‘Did he… put up much of a fight…?’

Despite himself, Zim nodded. He was sure he did. The assassin was the one lying dead on the floor, not  _ him _ . 

‘Really?’ Red said flatly.

‘But he’s… so stupid,’ said Purple.

‘And weak.’ 

The heat of the battle was starting to wear off. Zim felt himself sagging, dejected, unable to make sense of what he was hearing.

‘The only reason he’s survived this long is because he was so good at running away,’ Red went on.

Purple managed to lift his head, wheezing, ‘And… he was tricky…’

‘Heh, too tricky,’ Red coughed. ‘Well, I can’t say he didn’t deserve this -’

The Vortian crossed her arms over her chest, horns swaying as she turned to face them properly, her back to Zim.

‘You’re starting to see, then,’ she said, ‘how this arrangement can benefit all of us.’

‘Arrangement?’ Red echoed sourly.

He took a breath, ready to say more, but the Vortian’s fingers were quicker on a small, palm-shaped device she was holding in one of her hands. Something swept from out behind Red’s neck, two halves of a thick, metal clamp wrapping around his mouth with a  _ snap _ . Enraged, muffled murmurs fuzzed out of him.

Zim’s desperation bunched up into his neck. He had to clench his teeth to keep himself from speaking. His thoughts were being wrung by his own confliction; until his own reasoning unravelled the, what was now  _ obvious _ subtext.

He was a genius, of course, but he didn’t need all that much intelligence to work out what was going on. His Tallest were in danger. Very possibly, he was the only Invader to know of this. Something bad had happened, right when all of the technology in his base had failed him; the effect must have spread to the Super Massive, too, allowing this  _ Vortian _ to take advantage. Zim recalled where he had heard her voice now.

_ Nice work, Irken Zim. Always so… Dependable. _

She had intercepted his control of the Super Massive. It was all so clear. And these things the Tallest were saying - it was all an act. They couldn’t talk to him properly so long as she was there, but Zim was positive they  _ knew _ they were not conversing with the assassin right now. Vortians might mix up one Irken with another, but the Tallest would recognise Zim, always, no matter how he presented to them. But already compromised, they had to do everything in their power to further preserve themselves. This Vortian could do worse than string them up and silence them if they weren’t careful, after all. And if they let on Zim had survived, their one hope of being saved could be lost.

Luckily for his Tallest, Zim understood. He understood it all.

Brightening, he cleared his throat, a rough growl and tongue clicks accompanying his next lot of gestures.

_ What would you have me do now, My Tallest? _

Red couldn’t answer, but Purple made no move to either, even though he still had the ability to speak. Instead, it was the Vortian that turned to him.

‘I’m so glad you asked,’ she said.

She put her hand to her chest, standing proud. Behind her, Tallest Red was squinting, his voice dying behind the metal clamp on his face.

‘Stay where you are. There’ll be someone coming to collect you, and to destroy all of that  _ Irken _ technology we Vortians slaved over -’

Zim flinched, his voice threatening to crack from his throat. His gestures almost became lost to panic.

_ I'll do that for you - _

‘Don’t be silly. It ought to be done properly, and as  _ resourceful _ in destruction as your kind are, you don’t have the means to do what must be done… In any case, well done for vanquishing Zim. It’s good to know your planet has yielded at least  _ one _ Irken that’s competent.’

Zim offered a shaky salute to keep up the act, but he needn’t have bothered; the hologram dissipated without the Vortian even seeing it. He threw off the cover at his mouth and, wincing, plucked the communication device out of his neck. Still standing under the archway to his kitchen, Dib and Gaz were watching, eyes wide.

Dib forced himself to swallow. ‘Holy -’

‘Are you  _ done _ ?’ Gaz snipped, eyes narrowing at Zim. ‘No offence, but I’m ready to go home now.’

‘That was - ’ Dib attempted, ‘I - You were - What were you…? What was  _ happening _ ?’

Zim growled, irritation hiking up his chest with every droning whine out of Dib’s mouth. ‘Nothing of  _ your _ concern, Dib-filth -’

‘That was… one of those  _ things _ ,’ Dib went on, as if not hearing him. Gaz was already trudging towards the door. ‘From the Vort planet Tak’s ship told me about - And your leaders, you found them -’

‘Of course I found them,’ said Zim, fists clenched, ‘it was easy once I -’

‘What was that Vort creature  _ doing _ to them? Were they captured? Why did you have to disguise yourself?’ With every question, Dib was stepping closer, jabbing his finger to emphasise his points. ‘What were they saying to you? Are they sending anyone else here? What if they’re on their way right now? You promised, Zim, remember? We made a promise -’

‘Alright, alright! Enough!’

Dib halted stiffly, a few paces left between them. He was trembling all over; Zim could practically hear the pounding of his heart. Not an abnormal condition for the Dib to be in around him lately; even if they were sitting at opposite ends of a room not interacting, that miserable, human organ of his was thumping as though one movement from Zim could make it stop. He wished he had the same power over his wretched vocal cords.

Circling around Dib, Zim reached up to push at the small of his back, forcing him towards the door. Gaz was already there, dropping the leftover pieces of her gaming console into the bag she brought with barely restrained fury.

‘Zim has done  _ enough _ to honour your pathetic friendship pact,’ he insisted, pushing harder every time Dib dug in his heels, ‘and like Zim  _ promised _ , there will be no invasion.’ This forcefulness worked; with every shove, Dib got more timid, more flinchy - ‘Now do what you should have done ages ago and  _ get out _ .’

With one last jab, Dib staggered onto the garden path, Gaz aptly stepping to the side in avoidance.

‘Wait,’ said Dib, spinning around to face him, ‘I need my -’

Zim slammed the door closed, turning to brace himself against it, panting from the stress. His eyes involuntarily found the other Irken lying impossibly still on his living room floor. He ignored Dib’s feverish knocking, his desperate pleas to be allowed back inside, just to get his bag, the bag he left by the couch, is it still there, can he just have it back -

With a groan, Zim pressed his hands to his face. There was a tenderness to his left palm that he feared would never go away. A constant reminder of that stupid  _ promise _ Dib made him enter into. No, unlike most humans, Dib would not be satisfied by words alone. It had not been enough to merely sell him the idea of trust. He had wanted it for real. With real consequences, real repercussions...

But one Vortian coming to Urth… That was not an  _ invasion _ exactly. And Zim had no intentions of letting anyone take away his base. 

His home. 

At least until he could free the Tallest, and be rewarded with a new one. New technology, new missions, and fresh outpourings of the respect and admiration he had always deserved. By then, Dib’s promise would mean nothing. 

Surely those binding ties could not stretch across all of space…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I could go back and rewrite this whole thing from the start, I'd have put the next scene (which I think is pretty key) right at the start. But... I hope it will make sense where I'm ending up having to put it. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos and comments, I'm unendingly grateful! I hope this update was worth the wait...


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to those commenting. Very busy so updates are slow... I will keep writing as long as people want to keep reading.

There was a rough wind teasing at the tree leaves, their loud chafing snatching away all other sound. Rolling back his sleeve, Dib checked his watch again. The strap kept catching on his bandages; what was once fresh, white gauze, was now grubby and slack around his wrist. 

The more time that passed, the more ridiculous his idea felt. This wouldn’t be the first time Zim had stood him up, or wormed his way around the outskirts of one of his plans simply by choosing not to engage. But Dib had everything set ready - he would rather get this over with. His enthusiasm to keep trying no matter how much he failed didn’t come so easily these days.

He adjusted his footing in the long grass, allowing a few more seconds to slip by. Just as he was considering packing up for the night, a rustling sound directly ahead caught his attention. It took some work to keep his own grin at bay.

‘No robot dog?’ he called out over the tumult.

Zim offered him a measured stare from across the clearing, half-drowned in the night’s shadows.

‘I left GIR at home.’

He seemed suited to the night. Harder to perceive, even with his terrible disguise. And with the grass at his waist, he was effectively half-hidden. All he had to do to put Dib at unease was duck and crawl. He would be almost invisible. Perhaps even slight enough to avoid the grass bending to his movements.

Dib shuddered. Frowning, he refocused his thoughts. Strode over the field, embodying a confidence he didn’t feel, one arm outstretched. Zim watched from his position, narrow-eyed, rigid. Slightly stooped over, too, Dib noticed.

‘You said you were tired of fighting,’ said Zim, correcting his posture as Dib drew closer.

Dib stopped, the grass soft under his boots.

‘I am.’

Zim may have stood himself straighter, but he was still holding one hand to his side. The chalky moonlight only highlighted the off-colour pallor of his skin, his small body heaving with breaths he didn’t need to take.

‘I know you won’t admit it,’ Dib dared to say, ‘but you’re tired, too, Zim. And still hurt -’

‘ _ Hurt _ ?!’ he snapped. ‘You didn’t put a scratch on me!’

‘Then why are you standing like that?’

‘I’m standing  _ normally _ , Dib-beast. This is how I always stand.’

‘No you don’t -’

‘Is this why you brought Zim here?! To tell  _ lies _ ?’

Dib sighed, looking up at the starless, black sky for strength. It was too easy to get drawn into an insult-match with Zim. Too easy to lose valuable time to calling him names, and arguing that black was white, and white was black.

Already in position, Dib sat down. The grass was cold and damp under the seat of his pants, the hairs on his arms bristling beneath his jacket sleeves. He slid his briefcase down beside him, the catch unloosened ready.

‘Did you read my letter?’ he asked. ‘I mean, I guess you must have to  _ be _ here, but the whole thing?’

Zim’s scowl deepened in intensity. 

‘I’m not gonna hurt you, Zim.’

‘I already  _ know _ that.’

‘Then come here.’

‘This is about making a pact, yes?’ he asked, tilting his head. When Dib gave no answer, he brought his fist to his mouth, making a show of clearing his throat. ‘Zim promises never to -’

‘No. Nuh-uh,’ said Dib. ‘Come here first.’

‘And why should I?!’

‘I didn’t bring you here so we could make  _ verbal _ promises, Zim. This has to be something more, otherwise it’ll never work.’

Zim gave a soft growl, clearly conflicted. Dib held his ground. Cupped his hands to his knees to hide the tremors. It took nearly a minute, but Zim conceded, moving within enough range for the darkness to peel back around him, the moon glow touching to him more detail, more visibility. His gait was staggered. He was limping. At about four foot’s distance, he came to a stop.

Dib beckoned him onward. ‘Sit down at least.’

‘Hah!’ Zim cried, ‘You can’t trick  _ me _ .’

‘What?’ said Dib. His heart was knocked out of beat. He couldn’t help looking about himself to see what might have exposed him. His briefcase was still shut. ‘I only asked you to sit down -’

‘The ground is wet!’

Relief flooded him up to the edges of his skin. ‘You think I’ve been out here, soaking the grass?’

‘The rain happened two nights ago!’

‘Yeah, but there was a lot of rain! And look at all the trees! Mud stays damp longer than the pavement! Geez, how long have you been here and you still don’t know -’

‘Do not tell  _ me _ what I know!’ Zim raged, reclaiming several steps’ distance, ‘You’re going to know suffering like no other for this,  _ Dib _ -’

‘Look, you don’t even have to sit down,’ Dib shouted, getting to his feet, ‘you just need to be close enough so we can shake hands!’

‘I’m not touching your hands!’

‘Then how’s the pact supposed to work?! That’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? We’re making a pact, we’re putting a stop to everything -’

‘ _ You _ need this pact more than I do.’

‘Oh, c’mon. You’ve been clutching your side since you got here. Guess I got that shiv in pretty deep, huh?’ Dib took a step forward, a rushing sense of thrill filling his chest when Zim shrank in retreat. ‘So what’s the matter, Zim? Your body not healing you as quickly as it used to?’

‘Speak for yourself; I can practically smell the blood still seeping out of you.’

Dib stamped down his foot, and Zim toppled backwards, the grass flattening under him.

‘Yeah, but guess what. Any time  _ I _ get hurt, I have a whole system of other people I can rely on. You don’t have anybody, do you?’

‘That’s not - ’

‘You’re all on your own.’

Zim growled, fists clenched, his Pak clicking as the extra appendages inside extended to help him. Even just the noise was enough to make Dib feel sick. He pulled himself upright, breaths thinning. Once lifted up high, Zim returned the pressure. Every two of Dib’s backward steps were met with the lunging, forward sway of the longer, sharper metal legs. His pulse skipped, blood rushing through his head, his throat dry.

The whole reason for this meeting, for his plan, was to  _ avoid _ this. And yet, it was all about to happen again. Zim was grinning wildly, clawed fingers ready to draw blood until Dib caught his briefcase with his heel. The contents inside clunked loudly. He staggered to a stop. Instinctively held his arms up to shield his face.

Zim tilted his head, his halting sudden enough for the movement to jar him wrong. Wincing, his fingers were quick to find his side again, the legs retracting almost against his will. He hit the ground with a soft thump. Small, curled over, shuddering in the wind-rustled grass.

‘You’ve made your point,’ Dib said, lowering his hands. ‘We both have.’

Zim lifted his head, his tunic wrinkling with the pressure he was applying to his seeping wound.

‘Well,’ said Dib, shivering, breaths quick. ‘What do you say?’

He offered his open palm, and scowling, Zim got to a stand and offered the same. To reach him better, Dib lowered himself into the grass once more, settling on his knees. Zim’s eyes followed his descent.

‘You need to take off your glove,’ he told Zim.

‘Why?’ His tone was flat, irritated.

‘Because,’ Dib said, reaching into his pocket, ‘there’s a special way of doing this.’

‘My computer said humans make  _ promises _ by -’

‘This isn’t any normal promise, Zim. It’s a pact, like I said.’

Lip curling, Zim let go of his injury, teasing his glove from his hand one finger at a time. When he saw the knife resting against Dib’s palm, he retracted his offer of a handshake.

‘What are you  _ doing _ ?’

Dib brought the sharp edge of the blade against his skin, splitting his palm open. Blood was quick to gather, beading along the curve.

‘Give me your hand.’

‘I never agreed to - ’

‘We have to do this for the pact to work, Zim. C’mon.’

‘You never said what this so-called  _ pact  _ is supposed to cover.’

Dib paused, bringing the sleeve of his jacket to the cut to soak up some of the blood.

‘You stop trying to take over the earth, and I’ll stop trying to expose you.’

‘And,’ Zim wiggled his bare fingers in the direction of Dib’s bleeding hand, ‘this  _ self-mutilation _ makes that so… how exactly?’

‘You’ll see if you hurry up and do yours.’

His chest was tight, his pulse thumping. There was every chance this wouldn’t work, but they were here now. And trying was all he had left.

Zim gave a weak, disgruntled sound. He stepped forward, snatching the knife from Dib’s grip, bringing the tip to the centre of his hand. A tremble took his whole arm. Turning to look the other way, teeth gritted, Zim dragged out a clumsy, shaky cut. The knife hit the grass the second he was done.

‘Now what?!’

‘Shake my hand,’ Dib said, shuffling to get close enough to him.

Zim held his ground, eyes shut tight. Only when they were touching, skin-to-skin, did Dib realise this was nothing like how it looked in the movies or on TV. His fingers were slick and dripping, the sting of their palms clasped together intense and uncomfortable. He hadn’t even really thought much about what kind of effect introducing his blood to Zim’s would do to him - or the other - on a biological level. The anxiety had him withdraw his hand after two limp shakes. He waved his hand a little, desperate to be clean, and Zim reacted similarly. As soon as Dib released him, he was wresting his claws back into his glove.

That was when Dib reached across for his briefcase, threw back the lid, and hit a button on the spelldrive waiting within.

A circle of pure, white light enclosed around them, filling out a pattern, as fluid as water trickling around rocks and stones. Zim cried out, holding his freshly cut hand close as though he was about to lose it.

‘That’s it,’ Dib said, basking in the cool white glow of the arcane markings now surrounding them. ‘The pact is sealed. Neither of us can break the conditions.’

Startled, eyes wide, Zim only held his wrist tighter. ‘Or what?!’

‘You’ll start turning into a human,’ Dib sneered.

Zim was aghast. ‘You didn’t say anything about that before!’

Dib snapped the briefcase, and the spelldrive inside shut. A binding spell - he had spent hours trawling the database for something of this effect, and with the drives all charged up, the heavy points cost hadn’t set him too far back either. There were still points to play with, and so, so many ways he could make Zim’s life miserable whilst this hung over him. He bet it looked so cool from overhead, too, circular and angular shapes criss-crossing through the long grass, illuminating them in an ominous glow that seemed to crack up out of the very earth itself. The power of some deep, technological magic, now at his command.

‘And what about  _ you _ ?’ Zim demanded, collecting himself. ‘What will  _ you _ turn into?’

‘Uh,’ Dib managed, losing his smile all of a sudden.

The light began to recede, sucking back into the ground, and with it, Zim lost the edge of hysteria that had taken him. His expression was darker, more severe, and Dib’s heart thudded hard, kicked by the pressure. He had to say something, and quick. The spell’s light was faint, but there. Surely that meant his invocation had been heard…? There had been nothing in the fine print about how much time he had to set the rules of the binding, about what, and which words spoken thereafter, would affect the parameters of the spell.

Mind frantic in his panic, he supposed it wouldn’t hurt to convince Zim that his fate would be just as bad if he broke his end of the bargain.

‘I guess I’d turn into, uh… an alien, probably. Like you -’

‘An  _ Irken _ ?’ Zim cried, ‘But that’d be an improvement!’

‘Well, maybe I don’t wanna be like you.’

‘Nonsense! You’d be better in every way!’

‘Okay,’ Dib said, measuring his breaths, trying to keep calm, ‘but I don’t have one of your backpack things, right?’

He gestured to Zim’s Pak - the round, egg-shaped device forever stuck to his spine.

‘You need that to live, don’t you?’ Dib pressed. 

Zim glowered, still clutching at his wrist.

‘What if I turned into an alien like you, but didn’t have one of those?’ Dib continued. ‘I’d die, right?’

Blinking, the dawning of the information lit up Zim’s expression into one of happy surprise. He chuckled to himself, his laugh sounding more and more out of control the longer it went on, his small shoulders shaken with it.

‘Yes, you’d  _ die _ , Dib,’ he eventually concluded, the glee of the realisation obvious. ‘Zim would be a miserable human, but you would be nothing, and have  _ no one _ . Isn’t that what you said?’

‘Right,’ said Dib. His clothes seemed to stick to him all of a sudden, his blood hot, even though his skin was cold. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. ‘So it’d be bad for both of us if we broke the pact… You understand that, don’t you?’

‘Of course I understand,’ Zim said, words lilting with perverse joy. ‘In fact, we could save each other the trouble if I just gutted you right now...’

Dib’s heart leapt into his throat. ‘No,’ he said, fretting, the additions coming quicker, easier, with every one he made up, ‘because here’s the thing - if something happens to me, the caster, it’s like you broke the promise anyway. And you’ll still change into a human.’

For a moment, Zim was silenced.

‘And… if  _ somebody else _ killed you, Dib-thing…?’

‘Same rules apply,’ he said quickly.

Zim’s eyes were at their widest, the glee in his expression sapped out.

‘Then surely the  _ opposite _ is true as well.’ Dib could see the paranoia tweaking his expression with fear. ‘You could kill Zim to become Irken!’

‘I already said, I don’t wanna be like you!’

Zim growled. ‘I’ve changed my mind about this  _ pact _ -’

‘Well, too bad, you can’t change your mind, neither of us can,’ Dib asserted, desperate for Zim to leave, for this all to be over. His grand plan had grown wildly out of his control. 

‘Think about it,’ he said, ‘if I die… two more fingers will sprout out of your hands. Ears will pop from the sides of your head -’

‘Enough!’ cried Zim, looking queasy.

Dib kicked off one of his boots, wiggling his toes in his socks. ‘Your feet will stretch just like this, and your skin will go a whole different colour -’

Shivering, teeth gritted, Zim endured only a few seconds more before bursting into a run, a scream following him through the damp grass. Under any other circumstances, Dib would have laughed, but his guts were curdling. Finally, the shimmering light under him drained into the earth, plunging him, and the clearing, into an impenetrable, inky darkness. There was only the white and fat full moon hanging above him, the endless night. He lost his breath imagining his words echoing out there for the universe and all of the hidden stars to hear. Woven now into the fabric of the spell he had cast, binding him, as he had bound Zim.

‘He just had to ask!’ he blurted out, even though he was alone.

If Zim hadn’t added so many extra conditions, so many flourishes… And the worst part of all was not knowing exactly which consequences would matter, and how. Theoretically, Dib  _ could _ keep trying to capture Zim, but to find out the limits of the spell, he risked turning into an Irken. An  _ alien _ .

Zim had already spelt out the unique horror of that.

_ You’d  _ die,  _ Dib… You would be nothing, and have  _ no one...

Perhaps not even his own dad would save him. Dib swallowed hard, snatching the spelldrive out of his briefcase, scouring the small print he had read over and over in the days he had spent formulating the plan. The descriptions were always so vague, so noncommittal.

And so the worrying began...


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be honest, I lost my muse for this ages ago, but since quarantine has given me some spare time, I will upload the chapters I had pre-written. Not sure there is much fandom left around to see it or if anyone who was reading will still be around... But I do hope you're all safe, and know how much I have appreciated the feedback, whether by kudos or comment. It really means a lot and I'm happy I have been able to write something a little enjoyable at least ha ha ha. Thank you.
> 
> The next scene takes place right after the assassins were given their orders.

‘I get that you’re angry -’

‘Anger doesn’t even begin to cover it.’

Char Kay sloped further down her chair, elbow resting on the arm, and her fist balled and pushed into the side of her face. All around them, bearing against the ship’s windows, was the vast, bleak void of space. Thousands upon thousands of stars, warm glows of hope made cold by distance.

‘I just wonder,’ Prisoner 777 said, fingers interlocked before him, ‘is there a purpose to culling the Invaders, beyond revenge -’

‘Is revenge not enough of a purpose?’

He bowed his head. There was no diverting her from this path now, he knew that. This was a trajectory their kind had been forced to pursue ever since the Irkens had betrayed their alliance.

‘Besides,’ Char Kay drawled, sitting herself upright, ‘as I’ve told you before, there’s no case you can make that will convince me to keep Zim alive. Not only is his  _ astronomical _ stupidity too dangerous an outlier to leave in play, he is so faultlessly loyal to his Tallest, it’ll only cause problems for us later.’

‘But my children - ’

She waved her hand, bored already of the topic. But Prisoner 777 would never tire of it. He would cover this already trodden, worn-out ground until someone,  _ anyone _ , would listen.

‘Zim told me himself that they’re still alive. Only  _ he _ knows where they are -’

‘And you believe him?’ she returned flatly.

Prisoner 777 frowned. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’

‘What is your relationship to him, exactly?’

Not for the first time, Char Kay’s keen insight rendered him mute. By the time he had muddled through his own thoughts, she was halfway into her next point.

‘You were prisoner to the Irkens,’ she reiterated, speaking to him as though he were an infant. ‘He was using you. Holding your children over your head like that only made things easier for him. And you, much more compliant.’

‘I’m not… I wasn’t only a  _ victim _ ,’ Prisoner 777 said, blood hot. ‘Helping Zim was a way to get back at the Tallest. A small way, but -’

‘You used your connections and your influence to make your own life in prison easier, and gave Zim toys to play with. You made him an inconvenience to the Tallest at best, and your continued input on their technologies merely held the balance.’

‘I didn’t have a choice -’

‘I thought you said you weren’t a victim?’

Prisoner 777 gritted his teeth, the irritation inside of him so taut, one more tug, and he felt he would snap. There was no denying Char Kay’s talent; yet, how conveniently she left out her own contributions ‘holding the balance’, as the Tallest continued reaping conquered planets, made invisible by  _ her _ technology. But Prisoner 777 was not  _ jealous _ . He always knew there would be somebody else to usurp him, another Vortian to build a better ship, with better features, and in half the time. His existence in Moo-Ping 10 may have been cushy, but he had still been deprived of a normal life. Of resources, education, communication with the outside world. Technology had continued to advance without him, and his ability to leave his mark on it had aged as fast as the flesh holding his bones in place.

Char Kay’s expression was utterly empty. Her interest in his plight, waning.

‘You need to accept that your children are dead,’ she said, ‘just like all of the others. They were merely something else the Almighty Tallest destroyed when they took over our planet.’

She slipped off her chair to approach him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, lowering her head in respect. 

A silent indication that he should touch his horns to hers. Accept the apology. Be touched, and not only by her words. Prisoner 777 lifted his chin, refusing the gesture. Char Kay righted herself.

‘There will be other opportunities,’ she offered instead. ‘You can find a new partner. Help us contribute to a new generation of -’

Prisoner 777 turned away from her, his steps echoing on the command room’s floor as he strode for the exit.

His skills did not start and end with just  _ designing _ ships. He could fly them, too. And he was not about to let his last ever lead die on some distant planet, hoarding the truth of what had become of his family.

It was time he learned once and for all where Zim had been keeping his children.

* * *

Dib stood with his back to Zim’s front door and stared down at his feet. He needed that spelldrive. It was the only one he hadn’t buried, and thus, the commanding console from which he would have to cast his ultimate spell. The failsafe he had been planning ever since the first one turned out to not be so safe against failing after all. 

Echoes of that night still reached him in the underlying anxiety that was forever knotting his stomach, forever sweating out of his palms, kicking at his heart… 

His head was pounding. A night with barely any sleep, no water, no food, and no bathroom was taking its toll. Gaz had already begun the walk home. Underarms damp, skin clammy, Dib followed after her, trying not to be too solemn. Two days would surely be enough time for Zim to calm down. For… whatever had happened in his house to be cleared up.

Would dissecting an Irken that was not Zim have any negative consequences for him…? Dib couldn’t help but wonder. Assuming he could get his hands on the body… The pact they made only pertained to  _ Zim _ , after all…

His stomach dropped, the blood in his face tingling. Guilt… He was feeling  _ guilt _ ? Or was this not just more worry? In a roundabout way, he supposed if he did anything to another Irken, Zim could also be affected. Presenting his findings on one of his kind would surely implicate others; the world would want to know if there were more, where they came from, were they all the same… A few years ago, knowing he could get that truth out there would have been enough to compel him to at least try. Now, Dib could barely muster the energy to imagine the glory of it. He was already giving all he had to keep the world safe.

But it was only two days. He would be stuck inside his house for two days until their dad’s curfew deterrent wore off, and then he could go to Zim’s house and get the spelldrive, and everything would be  _ fine _ .

They were at the bottom of the yard now, the oppressive lights from the windows still strobing and the alarms inside still blaring. Several people in their neighbourhood were out on the street, a couple of police cars parked haphazardly, the officers no doubt there to deal with the noise complaint. Gaz walked the path to their front door, either not noticing the small crowd or not caring. Perhaps because nobody was even looking at them anyway. Dib narrowed his eyes, waiting for someone to turn and notice they were home, waiting for the trouble that would come to them for leaving their house like this for such a long time.

Only, all of their neighbours - and the police officers - were looking up at the sky. Dib tipped his head back to do the same, a weak gasp unloosening from his throat.

High above, breaching the hot, filmy layer of smog in front of the clouds, was a vessel like nothing he had ever seen before. Whatever this was, it was not like the Super Massive. This ship was all edges and straight lines, a layered, dark grey obelisk descending on their world with a thrum that grew louder the lower it fell. Dib could feel the vibrations in his bones. He turned to run, to call Gaz back.

Then there was a flash. A lethal level of white, achingly bright. Dib shut his eyes, felt the slapping sting of the ground hitting his hands and knees. Agonisingly long seconds passed, the world around him nothing but the burning red of his eyelids. He dared cracking one eye open. The action took an unreal amount of effort. It was as though there was a minute-long delay between his thoughts and his body’s ability to  _ do _ the things he wanted it to do. 

The light was gone, replaced by their burning red sky, the crowd of people (now collapsed like him), and that nightmarish ship floating closer to the ground, somehow getting smaller… It shrank behind the houses out of his sight.

Dib crawled around the yard, his voice not forming the shouts leaping up his throat. He couldn’t talk. He could hardly think, his vision was doubling… His fingers automatically went to his neck, finding a small medallion. A protection charm. After a few strokes with his thumb, the accompanying mantra slowly formed in his brain, and things started to clear.

Everyone else had fallen to the ground, too. They were lying there out on the road in a pile, stiff, as though frozen. 

_ Gaz _ .

Dib got to his feet, noticing she was not there. Not where he had last seen her; she had been at their front door, palm to the handle, ready to go inside. He lurched forwards, his body slamming against the door as he ran at it full pelt.

‘Gaz?!’ he shouted, standing on his tiptoes to see through the small, decorative window at the top. ‘Are you there? Are you okay?’

There was a shadow of movement from within. Then seconds later, Gaz’s eyes were level with his. She had found something to put in front of the door to stand on. It was clear from her expression she was not nearly as worried as he was. Dib pushed down on the handle, eager to get inside. Something caught in the frame. The door was locked. He heaved and pulled, rattling the handle, until Gaz knocked her fist to the glass and shook her head.

‘The curfew,’ she said.

The house had gone into lockdown the moment she had stepped through the door. Safe inside, she was unaffected by whatever weird time distortion was going on outside. Although now wasn’t the time to brag, Dib was sure some of his own supernatural improvements around their home had acted as a barrier. That, and possibly their dad’s technology. Professor Membrane was always tweaking things, working on something or other… Perhaps combined, they had turned their house into a surprise fortress.

‘Can you open the door from your side?’ Dib asked.

She stared at him. ‘Who’s gonna save the world if you get stuck in here too?’

Her expression was stolid, the words near-emotionless, but Dib clutched at his chest, a surging rise of hope, the overwhelming feeling of her acceptance of him filling up the space behind his ribs.

‘Go get your stupid drive thing,’ she said.

Dib pushed his glasses back into place, and nodded.

‘Right. And don’t worry, Gaz - I’ll be back!’


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, I really wasn't expecting anyone to still be reading this. Thank you, thank you for commenting and leaving kudos, it is so encouraging.

The world was collapsing all around him. It was as if gravity had increased tenfold, and time had slowed to a stop. The people he passed on the streets were pinned down, their eyes vacant, bodies immobile. In glances through windows as he walked, Dib caught others slumped over their kitchen counters, or sunken into their armchairs, their televisions chewing on distorted images or shorted out altogether. Whatever signal that ship was putting out, it was _ strong _. Dib could hardly believe he had been able to negate the effects. 

In the face of his father’s science, Dib had not given up his faith in the supernatural. He believed there was a magic to the universe, a wealth of untapped power in the fabric of the world around them. In fact, science was just a way of measuring the things that could be directly perceived; once upon a time, everyday occurrences like the earth orbiting the sun or the changing of the weather would have felt like magic or some divine interference, too. 

One day, his dad was going to listen. Not humour him, not see his work as a ‘phase’ or something to be supported out of some parental obligation, but really understand it as a real, tangible area of study. These were powers that could be observed, used, learnt from… Dib again held the medallion at his chest in his palm. At least this time, his meddling had been good for something.

The gigantic vessel that had once loomed over the city was now the size of a small car. It hung over Zim’s house, making use of the hole the other Irken had punctured through the roof. An undulating beam pulsed through, clear in colour, but noticeable by the strong waves bending Dib’s vision. He ran straight to the door and let himself inside, a strong sense of deja vu catching him as he saw Zim, again, being confronted, but this time by an alien that looked nothing like an Irken.

This one was small, too. Not as short as Zim, but with more head than body, its scalp splitting up into two, curved horns. Just like the alien Dib had witnessed Zim talking to all of those years ago, with the bug he had hidden in the base.

The other alien reacted immediately to Dib’s entrance, retrieving what looked like a weapon from its hip. Dib’s breath hitched in his throat.

‘You shouldn’t even be able to _ move _,’ said the Vortian, beady, green eyes narrowing.

Zim dived at it, reaching for the weapon. 

‘Wait! Don't!’

The alien twisted its body in resistance. Opened its mouth to speak, but stopped itself as Dib strode over to them.

‘I knew it,’ he said, even though his limbs had turned to jelly and his heart felt about to race up his throat. ‘I always knew this was gonna happen -’

‘Nothing is happening,’ Zim snapped, turning on him, ‘you _ useless _ -’

His insult had no chance to form; the taller alien threw him off with a surprising strength. Dib watched as Zim’s body flew across the room, his back smacking into the nearest wall. He dropped face-down, body twitching.

‘You thought I’d come here unprepared?’ The Vortian tapped at the tech encompassing its chest. A heavy-duty suit; its arms, legs and body were covered in tough, metal armour. ‘If you don’t start talking, Zim, I’m going to _ make _ you talk, and it’s going to _ hurt _.’

Dib tensed, stuck between desperate thoughts and anxious inaction. What if this alien killed Zim right here? That was a risk he couldn’t let materialise.

He ran for the Vortian; anything to distract it. Even if he could just take _ one _ of the invaders out, that was better than not trying at all. But the Vortian was strong, and much quicker to react than him. Dib couldn’t even lay a hand on it. His every jab and reach was countered before he could think of another move to make. He left himself wide open; the Vortian lifted its leg, its sharp, pronged foot hitting him in the sternum and knocking him down. As he hit the ground, winded, Zim recovered. He leapt at the Vortian, snarling, Pak legs dispensing.

‘You _ dare _ hurt that human! He’s mine!’

Coolly, the Vortian made an adjustment to its weapon. Pointed the muzzle at Zim. A light click, and Zim’s Pak legs retracted back into their pod with a snap, and again, Zim fell flat on his face.

‘Be still,’ the Vortian commanded. ‘I’m no Irken. The indigenous lifeforms will be left unharmed if you give me what I came here for.’

Wincing, trying to gather himself to his feet again, Zim wheezed in agreement.

‘Then I’ll get the voot cruiser -’

‘What do you think I am? Stupid?’ the Vortian spat.

It tilted the weapon, running a palm across its long snout. When pointed, Zim began to float above the floor. He threw his arms out, kicked his legs, but the lack of gravity only saw him tumbling backwards in a slow arc, as though he were hanging by strings.

‘What are you _ doing _?! Put me down!’

The Vortian drifted him towards the tractor beam pulsing from the ship. Once Zim reached its field, Dib found the weapon pointed at himself.

‘Hey,’ he cried, ‘wait - !

Zim’s anger was rough on his throat. ‘I told you to leave the Dib-human out of this!’

‘Oh, so _ this _ is Dib?’ The Vortian said, tilting its head as if in appraisal. ‘I shouldn’t be surprised, but such behaviour is lowly even for _ you _, Zim.’

Zim bared his grooved teeth, his fingers curling into fists.

‘You forced me to endure countless hours of ranting, and all about this - this _ infant _ -’

‘SILENCE!’ Zim shrieked, trembling with rage.

A smile quirked at the alien’s mouth. Dib felt himself grow weightless, his insides feeling like air as he was raised up off the ground. There was no time for him to even feel the satisfaction that came with knowing how much he had bothered Zim over the years.

‘I can see you’re fond of this creature,’ the Vortian observed, bringing Dib closer to the tractor beam, ‘so I’ll allow myself one potential casualty for insurance -’

There was a deep, eardrum-warping sound as the tractor beam was activated. Zim started to drift upwards as Dib became sucked into the traction.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ Zim cried, tipping upside down and clawing at the air. ‘The Dib _ has _ to stay alive, or else I - !’

‘He will stay alive,’ the Vortian called up after them, ‘if you do as you promise.’

If the sensation of floating was weird, being in the tractor beam was even weirder. Dib’s organs felt displaced, his stomach flipping, blood thinning. He was sure his heart might thud to a complete stop. As he watched the streets beneath him getting smaller, he thought of Gaz, her face pressed up to the glass. Trapped in their house. No way of saving herself if things went badly. His spelldrive was still stuck somewhere in Zim’s house - how was he going to activate the defensive spell he had spent so long preparing?

The world, _ his _ world, disappeared. Once inside the belly of the Vortian’s ship, the beam dropped him onto the floor. Before he could get his bearings, something snapped upwards around them. A cage. Dib crawled over to the mesh-like bars, hooking his fingers through the gaps. The Vortian was already walking away from them. A panel in the wall slid back, revealing all kinds of apparatus beyond and something like a command centre.

There was no time to really _ see _ the nature of the technology. The panel drifted shut, leaving Dib alone with Zim, their cage surrounded by crates and boxes, and brimming shelves of nondescript containers.

‘Zim,’ Dib said shakily, scootching around to face him. ‘Please tell me you have what this guy came here for…’

On all fours, looking sick, Zim wouldn't even look at him.

* * *

The journey was long and quiet. Zim didn’t speak to Dib except to tell him to shut up. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own thoughts, his eyes shifting this way and that. His disguise lay on the floor, the limp, thinning wig, and the crushed lenses. Other than the soft thrum of the machinery around them, there was no other indication that they were even moving. The Vortian did visit them, asking Zim to input the proper coordinates into a small device, before disappearing again.

‘Where are we going?’ Dib tried not for the first time.

‘Do _ not _ interrupt Zim!’

‘How am I interrupting you? You’re not even doing anything! We’re both just sitting here!’

If Zim was going to reply, he didn’t get a chance to. There was a strange feeling within the ship, like Dib’s organs were all being dragged downwards, his stomach flipping, like they’d hit a bump. A great shudder juddered through the hull. Then nothing. The lights around them dimmed, and the door to the Vortian’s command room opened.

‘Do you think this is funny?’

Zim said nothing. Dib felt like his entire shirt was going to be sweat-drenched. He could smell the sourness of himself, his neck feeling damp, his whole head hot.

‘If you’ve brought me here in some weak attempt to -’

‘What are you _ talking _ about?’ Zim snapped, getting up and pulling at the cage’s wiry bars. ‘Let Zim free! I will lead you to your filthy _ children _ and then you can take us back to Urth, and this whole pathetic ordeal will be over.’

‘You left them?’ the Vortian returned. ‘Here?’

‘Children?’ Dib intoned.

‘Of course I left them!’ Zim said. He seemed to realise something, only he didn’t voice it.

‘This place is a _ wasteland_.'

The Vortian pressed something at his wrist, and the cage collapsed from around them. Only for a hole to open up underneath them instead, depositing them both outside the ship. The ground was dense; Dib winced, feeling something in his chest crack. He went to take a breath and then realised he couldn’t. His lungs felt stuck, already full; nothing was catching in his throat, no matter how much he gasped, and the pain was unbearable, like he could scream with it.

The Vortian was right. This place was a wasteland. There was nothing but orange for miles around. Orange sand, orange dirt, orange rocks, a wan orange sky. The light of stars pushed softly through the haze, the nearest one hanging mutely over distant mountains. Something close to a sun only ten times larger.

Zim looked about himself, antennae rod straight.

‘Your navigational systems must be faulty,’ he said, ‘this isn’t where I…’

‘Show me,’ the Vortian said. ‘Show me exactly where you left them.’

‘I gave you the coordinates!’

‘This is where the coordinates _ led _. I want you to show me exactly where, in exactly what area -’

‘There should be plants,’ said Zim, holding back a panicked sound. ‘Basic, useless lifeforms, I -’

His voice started to go quiet.

Dib’s vision was spotting. He opened his mouth to speak, and nothing came out. His lungs were burning, aching. His fingers dug into the dirt underneath him, the grains warm, like sand on a beach, as he rested his face down, unable to crane his neck anymore. Even if he could reach his protective amulet, he had a feeling it wouldn’t be able to help him here. There was no device causing this oppression. It was the nature of the planet itself.

‘Show me where, Zim!’ the Vortian shrieked.

‘Show you? _ How _? The planet is different since I was last here!’

‘And when _ were _ you last here?’

Zim was frowning, as if trying to think. But then he just shrugged. There was a shocking lack of emotion on him.

‘You left my children to die on a blasted planet!’ the Vortian railed, his sadness wavering his voice, ‘and now look! Something _ you _ hold dear is going to die as well.’

Dib was only able to emit a weak, strangled noise. He caught Zim turning to look at him, expression tweaking with panic. In the next moment, he was at Dib’s side, trying to turn him over, his little claws sharp through Dib’s now wet shirt. This planet, besides being airless, was so hot. So, so hot… His skin was stinging.

‘Things didn’t have to be like this,’ the Vortian raged. ‘You Irkens, you’re - you’re a curse! Only satisfied when you’re destroying and killing -’

Zim growled harshly. ‘If I’d wanted them dead, I would have come up with something much more satisfying than _ this _.’

‘Shut up!’ said the Vortian. ‘One more word, and I’ll rip that creature of yours to shreds! I’ll tear him apart!’

Zim’s antennae went flat to his head. ‘Please,’ he said, still weakly trying to get Dib onto his back, ‘the Dib - he _ can’t _ die or else Zim - or else -’

Dib was at his limit. He felt like his head was going to explode, like the veins in his face were all bunched up with blood. He tried to hit Zim’s hands away, and only managed to sprawl further out onto the ground. His nose was pushed into the sand, his mouth hanging open, thick with dust, as he tried one last time to breathe.

Then came strange sounds, voices turned into noises, and things stopped making sense. This was it, Dib realised.

He was dying.

There was a great flash of light; he saw the white hotness of it in his peripheries before he closed his eyes.

His thoughts immediately turned to Gaz. They were both much younger, sitting together in the living room, the television on in the background as for once, they were getting along; colouring in together, the room smelling vaguely like the dinner they just ate, and that special kind of air purifier their Dad had installed that was supposed to be like fresh laundry, but burned on the nose more like chlorine.

He was there, in fact. Professor Membrane. His dad. Sitting on the couch. Talking to someone from work, but that was his voice. Not through speakers, not on the other end of a call. But from right there, in the living room. When they could be all together, and things were uncomplicated.

Back when things had been good.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this took so long... Doing what I can. Thank you so much for the comments and kudos, it's the nicest of surprises

**LONG AGO, BEFORE THE FLORPUS**

There were worse places she could have landed. At least this planet had an atmosphere. Cover, too, in the form of towering plants, thick carpets of foliage, and a film of grey clouds sitting heavy in the sky, the hole her escape pod had made slowly coalescing.

Tak popped the glass window from what was left of her ship, fell from her seat, and landed with a thud on the vine-laden floor. Mimi’s head rolled out after her, her eyes as dull as stones. For a moment Tak lay there and did nothing. She stared at her broken SIR unit and let the planet’s natural warmth heat her skin until a sweat broke on her brow. She managed to pull herself onto all fours, and that was as far as she could go. 

Trembling, emotions broiling in her chest, she tried to make sense of everything that had happened. 

All she knew for certain was that she had never hated anyone, or anything, as much as she hated Zim. He shouldn’t be allowed. Why the Tallest hadn’t ripped his Pak from him and thrown it into the indifferent tides of space was beyond her comprehension.

_ He _ was beyond her comprehension.

But there was no time to fester in that hatred. This was a strange world teeming with life, and she could not rule out the possibility that intelligent, sentient beings lived amongst the roughage.

Tak sprung to her feet, collecting up Mimi’s pieces and stowing them on the floor of the escape pod. A SIR unit was valuable, essential equipment; she made a note to try and get it back in working order again as soon as she had the parts and the time.

Until then, she needed to hide the wreckage.

She climbed one of the surrounding trees, the bark rough and pocked with divots just-so deep enough for her to gain purchase. Aside from the thick clouds, the whole floor was shaded by their gigantic circular leaves. They fell with a loud _ whoosh _, snapping and squashing the shrubbery below, the warm air infused with their heady, fresh scent.

It was as she set about hacking her third spoil from its tough branches that the scuttling of something wading through leaves met her antennae.

Tak clung to the safety of the tall tree, watching the grasses below.

There, she caught the unmistakable horned heads of two Vortians...

* * *

**NOW**

Proximity sensors she had littered across the planet’s surface alerted her of the descension. 

Another vessel had come.

Tak was sitting in the hollowed out carcass of the last one, the shelves still brimming with all of the supplies she didn’t yet need and everything but its basic frame and vital internal components picked clean and dismembered. She watched for the blip on the monitor falling still. Then waited for three minutes to lapse. No movement was promising.

No movement meant the ship had landed.

Armed with a stun gun she had found amongst the last pilot’s personal effects, Tak began her short flight across the desert wastes, her Pak providing the propulsion she needed to cover the distance quickly so that she didn’t have to bear the planet’s intense heat for too long. She made sure to approach from the west, knowing there to be scatterings of rocks that would make for good cover. As soon as she saw the ship’s dark shape smudged against the orange sky, she dropped to the floor and rushed to get closer.

From her hiding place, she observed the unmistakably Vortian vessel hovering above the dust-laden ground. Rectangular, pointed, shrunken down from its true size. 

Just like the last one. 

Her brewing apprehension was soon soothed by the quick-knitting of a plan in her head. This time, she was going to capture the vessel flight-capable, and not as a sabotaged husk. She turned, thinking of returning to her base to gather some much-needed supplies, when a hole opened up under the ship’s belly. Two figures dropped out as though thrown. A third followed after, floating gracefully to the floor, enhanced by the hardy power suit clinging to his frame.

A Vortian, which was no surprise.

But a human, and an Irken? Tak’s antennae slanted back, her eyes narrowing in interest. Then widening as soon as the recognition hit.

That was Zim.

Her blood ran as thin as water. She thought the day he came back here would never come. Or that it would at least come _ after _ she had managed to make her escape.

She grimaced, reaching for the stun gun holstered at her side, checking its charge. 

One good shot left.

Zim and the suit-powered Vortian were conversing in increasingly emphatic gestures. The human lay ignored. Writhing in the dirt, fingers clawed, skin purpling.

It couldn’t breathe here.

No Pak to moderate the environment. Only two wet, blood-filled bags now undoubtedly shrivelling in its chest as the air failed to come.

Only when the Vortian drew his attention to it did Zim seem to notice. And he scuttled to the human’s side like it was his Pak ripped from him, grabbed at it just as desperately.

If there was ever a time to act, it was now.

Tak activated the boosters in her Pak and sprang from behind the rock, flying through the filmly, orange air in a graceful arc. As soon as her heels touched the dirt, she fired at the Vortian. The shot was precise enough to hit the thin trace of skin where the suit ended at his neck, and he tensed up, bones pulled inwards as he spasmed into a state of shock. His body hit the floor with a thump, and then Tak spun in the direction of the ship. Zim was still under it, and the human he had with him was Dib - she could see that now.

Older, taller, but still him.

Zim didn’t even look her way. She powered towards him with quick, pointed steps, wielding her weapon like a short club. If he wanted that ship as well, he was going to have to fight her for it. His pathetic rivalry with a human _child_ was his bane to deal with, not hers.

As she neared, Zim was sliding his hands under Dib’s arms, then set about dragging him, limp as he was, to better align him under the entrance. Her cautious footsteps were lost under the scraping of the sand and Zim’s voice catching in his throat with the effort of it all. Was he...? Saving Dib...?

Tak shook her head of the thought. There was no time to dwell on such pointless things. She burst into a run, the boosters in her Pak warming up and ready to jet her into the ship. Zim’s antennae lifted at the sound, extra legs extending out of his own Pak in response. She cursed inwardly, but did not stop.

Neither did he.

Two of the appendages reached up into the belly of the ship, the other two bowing in preparation as Zim scooped Dib close to his chest. He then sprung up from the floor, the spare Pak legs folding under Dib's dangling lower half as they disappeared into the vessel together.

Tak tore after them, snarling, springing up into the ship mere moments behind. All she had to do was get to the controls first. Then she could deal with Zim and his _pet_.

But Zim leapt at her the instant she appeared, a rough cry on his throat. They collided with such force Tak’s grip on her weapon went slack. The implement skittered across the floor and through the hole just as her Pak smacked the hard metal panelling. 

‘Wait,’ Tak wheezed, stunned.

Something was wrong. An ache crept through her muscles, her Pak stuttering.

She couldn’t move. 

Zim dropped down to straddle her, Pak legs gone in a snap. She tried to lift her arms in self-defence, but he smacked her attempt away, raking the left side of her face. Tak gritted her teeth against the sting, flinching at his next swipe, her body completely limp under him.

She had never seen him like this before. It was like he was fighting for his _ own _ life, not just the human’s, and if she didn’t stop him her situation could be just as grave -

‘...Zim…’

The wheezing, strained sound of Dib’s voice suppressed her own. Zim drew back, antennae up and alert. Curled up on his side, shaken by the last of his breaths, Dib was reaching towards them. Struggling.

_ Dying _.

Zim hurried to his side, and as Tak tried to get up, another shock from her Pak almost choked her. She forced herself to relax. All she could do was lie there and listen at Zim chirruping frightened little noises in response to Dib's gasping. She rolled her head to see them both, her mauled cheek pressed to the warm ground. He was tilting the human’s face this way, that way, pulling at his shut eyelids - then he clawed Dib’s shirt open, and put his palm over the left side of his chest. Leaning in close as if to listen for something, Zim's antenna gave an agitated flick. He leaned back, pushing at Dib’s chest with both hands. He counted in Irken quietly, keeping a steady rhythm, then motioned to listen again. Perhaps hearing nothing, he continued with the pressing, until, eventually, he gave a frustrated noise.

‘Stupid, _ useless _ humans. Weak! Zim shouldn’t have had to learn this!’ 

He then appeared to notice the control center. The door was partly open, exposing the array of buttons and blinkers on the console inside.

‘No,’ said Tak, having to push the order through her teeth as she tried to roll onto her front, ‘don’t!’

Of course he ignored her, leaving Dib to curl up in pain, his lips dulling blue. Tak’s antennae twitched at the sound of switches being flipped, and the vessel’s engines thrumming into life. The atmospheric regulator kicked in, cool air dousing her from above, but the porthole was still open - it was having no benefit on Dib at all.

‘You don’t know what you’re doing!’ she yelled, almost onto all fours. ‘I’ve encountered a ship like this before, if you’re not careful you’ll -’

She lurched, knocked off-balance. The lights snapped off, the regulator cut out, and the ship plunged to the floor with a sickening drop. The disturbance rolled Dib onto his front, his skin already starting to flush. If he hadn’t suffocated by now, the lack of atmosphere to protect the surface from the glaring star overhead would surely boil him alive. 

‘_You _.’

Tak tensed, managing to turn onto her back in time to see Zim charging for her. He pulled her up by the neck of her tunic, shaking her as he spoke.

‘You said you’d encountered a ship like this before - tell Zim how to make it work!’

‘You can’t!'

He stopped rattling her long enough to hear her out, her arms hanging uselessly.

‘This is a Vortian rescue vessel,’ she relented, ‘they take relief to conquered planets before the sweep, they don't allow a foreign signature, especially not an _Irken_'_s_ -’

‘I don’t care,’ said Zim, jostling her in his temper, ‘I need to get the Dib back to Urth _now_ -'

‘Okay stop,’ Tak urged, ‘stop! There's something else!’

He dropped her, but leaned in close, a growl purring through his teeth.

‘The ship looks to still be equipped with its intended resources,’ she said quickly, tilting her head in gesture to the brimming shelves all around them. ‘You might be able to find oxygen tanks, masks - ’

Zim went off in search at once, using his Pak’s added appendages to elevate him to the higher up containers. Every package and box he looked through was thrown to the floor until, eventually, he must have found what Dib needed. He ferried the box over to him, dipping in head first to pull out a small clear mask and a set of oxygen canisters. He was quick to figure the assembly out, lifting Dib’s head carefully so that he could fasten the mask ties.

In her absence of emotional attachment, all Tak could think about was how ageing had kind of brought Dib’s unnaturally large head into line with the rest of his body. He was more in proportion than before. Weirdly long-limbed, as all adult humans were, but otherwise an improvement on the stunted, overly emphatic child she’d left behind.

For a while, he did not stir.

Zim knelt beside him, staring in a dedicated search for movement. Seconds slid into a minute, and Tak could no longer look. She shut her eyes.

This was supposed to bring her _ joy_, or as close to it as an Irken could get. Watching lesser races fade out should have activated something within her.

But all she felt was _sick_.

About as sick as Zim looked in his fretting.

Dib’s body then gave a sudden jerk.

He heaved in a breath, his ribs sharp under his flesh. Coughing, gasping hard, his eyes fluttered open. His glasses had been broken in the fall and were sitting askew on his face. Although he was different with age, there was still the look of the child in him. A vulnerability, Tak realised. A youth.

Zim laughed aloud, a purely joyous sound that burgeoned into something more sinister the longer he went on.

‘Nice try, Dib-pig, but Zim will _ never_, _ever _ be -’ 

Dib's head lolled against his shoulder, his eyes falling shut.

‘No!’ Zim cried, clutching at Dib's ruined clothes, ‘This can’t be!’

‘Stop shrieking,’ said Tak. She pushed herself to sit up even though it hurt, her bones stiff all over. ‘He’s unconscious... Probably just needs to recover...’

Zim faced her with an unhinged movement. ‘But not dead?’

‘No,’ she said, trying to restrain the rage boiling inside of her. ‘Why would you even bring him here in the first place?!’

‘That _ pathetic _ Vortian,' Zim growled.

He paid no mind to her reaction. All of his attention was back on Dib, like he might deflate into nothing but skin right in front of them both if Zim looked away long enough. Tak stared at the floor, the metal stinging her where she was in contact; the temperature in the ship was reaching uncomfortable levels, even with the added regulation from her Pak.

‘The Dib can’t stay here much longer,’ Zim then announced, noticing it as well. ‘You! You must have a base of some kind to have survived a planet as _ disgustingly _hot as this. Where is it?!’

It was clear by now to Tak that he either didn’t recognise her, or he was dedicating a lot of effort into pretending that he didn’t. She would prefer the former, of course, but she wasn't about to ask to find out. Just being in the same room as him was intolerable; in this heat, in these circumstances, she couldn't bear even the _thought_ of a shouting match with him.

Her plan had been to avoid him altogether, for as long as possible, until both of their shells naturally perished under the ravages of time. But her much-awaited chance to get off the planet was gone, and the human - Dib - was going to start bubbling like stew over a flame if he was left unattended for much longer.

There was a renewed strength in her body, enough to get her onto her feet. There was always the option of leaving them both behind. But then Zim would track her, and if Dib didn’t survive… Well… She didn’t want to imagine the outcome. 

In all the years that had passed, she had thought herself more than a match for Zim, but something about him was different. _ She _ was different, she considered, touching a hand to her clawed face. One rough shove shouldn’t have been enough to incapacitate her, and Zim shouldn’t have been capable of such dangerous, unpredictable violence. Irkens weren't usually ones to change, and yet, in all her experiences since their last vis-a-vis, Tak knew stranger things to have happened...

‘Well?!’ Zim prompted, clinging to Dib's damp, torn shirt. ‘Where is it?! Your base? You _ must _ have one.’

It was his fault she was here in the first place, his fault they were both now stranded with no vessel to speak of, but Tak was too tired to argue.

She sighed. ‘_Fine_. But you can carry the human yourself.’

Zim's answer was in his haste to act - he turned Dib over onto his back, the pink circles of his Pak retracting to make way for extra limbs.

They were going to have to blast their way out, Tak determined.

She did the honours. Pretended it wasn’t agony to summon the four appendages needed from her Pak, and that her spine didn’t twinge as the energy beams cut a perfect rectangle into the ship’s hull. She leapt out into the intense heat and Zim followed after her, lifted high by six additional, mechanical legs, a spare two cradling Dib so that he was strung on his back just behind Zim's head, his arms and legs dangling.

Tak paused, turning this way and that, scouring for the felled Vortian. Her next thought was to look for the stun-gun she had lost, but there was no way of knowing if both had become crushed under the floored ship, or if the Vortian had somehow recovered and escaped, taking the weapon with him. If that were the case, he might be able to reactivate the ship if he could repair the hole she had just blasted through it...

Zim's skittering came to a stop.

'What are we waiting for?' he snapped. 'I thought we were going to your base!'

'We are,' Tak said, distracted.

A glance over her shoulder, and she caught the deep reddening of Dib's skin, the air dancing in waves around them.

She beckoned Zim to follow, picking up her pace.

The Vortian and determining his whereabouts would have to be another problem for another time...


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kind comments and the kudos during this very long break between chapters... I've been doing a lot of work on this recently... Not sure if anyone will be around to read, but I still hope to update gradually. A short chapter for now... not sure how I feel about it but I will sit on this work forever if I don't push myself to publish. Thanks again for all the feedback and interaction, I can't tell you how much it is appreciated.

The brittle form of a gutted vessel emerged from behind the rock cluster. Zim could see directly through to its other side; the doors were torn off, a frame for the orange dust drifting for the far horizon, the insufferable heat bending everything into waves.

He caught a dismayed noise in his throat, keeping to the limp shade cast by the surrounding stones. The Dib weighed heavily above him, his arms hanging in a near-lifeless sway. A single drip of sweat dithered under Zim’s chin. He caught up to the other Irken, Pak legs delicately clicking.

‘_This _ is your base?’

She stopped before climbing inside, sending him a sour look from over her shoulder.

‘Sit outside and melt then. The only reason you’re even _ here _ is because -’

Zim bit back a growl, shoving her aside. All of this talking, the slow stiffness of her movements; the Dib was probably halfway to being liquid by now! 

Like the other Vortian vessel, this one had not been restored to its true size. The walls leaned in oppressively, the air still stifling despite the drapes of shadow further in. As Zim neared the back wall, he could make out the grooves of a shut door.

‘Touch me again and you’re _ dead_.’

The other Irken stalked towards him, claws twitching. She passed under his Pak legs and with all of her strength, wrenched the panel back. Cool air breathed out as Zim slipped inside. He set Dib down onto the floor, then rolled him over, his extra appendages folding away into his Pak. 

Dib’s face was flushed under the mask assisting him, his hair wet and all out of shape. Zim touched a hand to his neck. Sure enough, blood was still being pulled through his veins. He sagged a little with relief, then detached himself. If he wanted that miserable drumming organ in Dib’s chest to keep doing its job, then he’d need to find him sustenance. 

How squishy humans were, how perishable! Zim would despair if these tasks became _ his _ to keep _ himself _ alive.

‘You,’ he said, addressing the other Irken in the room. ‘Tell Zim about this planet’s nearest water source.’

She stared at him, a harsh-eyed silhouette by the cracked-open door.

‘You didn’t bring the supplies from the other ship?’

‘I was carrying the Dib!’

‘We need to return to the landing site in any case,’ she said, folding her arms. ‘We might be able to salvage enough to make something flight-capable.’

‘Fine, fine,’ said Zim gruffly, flicking his hand at her in dismissal. ‘But be quick.’

Her shoulders shook with a short, dark laugh.

‘What?’ he demanded. ‘You dare laugh at Zim?!’

‘If I wasn’t _ laughing_, I’d be - ’ she clutched at the air in front of her, teeth gritted. Then her arms fell to her sides. ‘You’re coming _ with _ me.’

Zim got to his feet, outraged.

‘And leave the human? _ Here_?’ His guts squirmed as he recalled all of the research he had done since their dreaded pact. ‘What if the Dib chokes on his disgusting tongue whilst I’m gone?’

The other Irken lifted one antenna in question. ‘I thought you hated him.’

‘Silence!’

She obeyed. Then rested against the ridge of the door, sighing.

‘Ordinarily, Zim, I’d relish any opportunity to avoid you. But... I can’t return to the Vortian’s ship on my own. Not when I’m…’

A frown narrowed her eyes further.

There was a harsh, droning buzz emanating from where she stood. Forced to trail behind her the whole way, Zim had also noticed the awkward tilt of her Pak. 

‘Your choice,’ she then said, the violet of her eyes the only brightness in the shadow. ‘You can help get us all off this planet, or sit here and watch this human of yours dry out.’

The landing site was in view, the ship hazy through the heat film. Zim stalked ahead, aloft on the extra appendages from his Pak. The other Irken trailed behind on foot. He stopped to wipe at his brow. His skin was damp, his clothes chafed.

‘Could you go any slower?’ he snapped.

She was swaying with each step, her footprints winding behind her in a traipsing, staggered pattern. A smile took her, turned sinister by her glowering frown.

‘Well since you asked so nicely...’

Zim growled. ‘I don’t have time for this. The Tallest are relying on me.’

‘No they aren’t,’ she sniped.

‘And what would _ you _ know?’ He raised his voice, the start of his sentence overlapping the end of hers. ‘No self-respecting Invader would be _ this _ late to their own planet. There’s nothing left here to conquer! The Tallest will have no need for -’

He lost the last of his words to a cry as the other Irken sprung from the ground to tackle him. His Pak reacted before he did, deftly sweeping him out of the way so that she soared past and landed face-down in the dust. A growl thrummed through her as she got upright.

‘Zim!’ she snarled, turning on him, ‘It’s _ your _ fault I’m on this planet! I’m only here because you ruined everything! I would have considered my escape pod crashing here _ unlucky _ if it hadn’t been for the -’ She blinked, eyes wide. Then turned away, pawing the dirt off her face, voice gritty. ‘We should get going. Other than the abysmal temperatures, the lack of structure encourages terrible sand storms. We can’t afford to get caught in one.’

Pak legs skittering over the dry dust, Zim followed without comment. Her voice was like the drone of a fly, and he’d stopped listening after she’d spat his name. He endured her slow pacing, restraining his temper. The vessel and all of the supplies inside were within reach, taking proper form through the oppressive warmth. Tilted and capsized on the dry ground, the hole they’d blasted into the side was like a rent wound.

It was only as they drew closer that things started to appear amiss.

Zim slowed as the other Irken dropped to her knees. He surpassed her, able to see the damage for himself up close.

The ship had been picked clean. All that remained was a hollowed-out shell, the panels that had been removed exposing the emptiness within. With his Pak legs, Zim explored the whole structure by climbing the outer walls. As the other Irken sat there, wilting in the heat, he scuttled all around the vessel, peering through the gaps, and ripping down the flimsy metal exterior to increase his visibility.

There was no way. There hadn’t been _ time _ for everything to have been taken. Only someone with incredible knowledge of Vortian technology would know exactly where to uncover all of the components...

‘The prisoner!’ he cried, popping up from behind the ship to address the other Irken. ‘That _ filthy_, _ traitorous _ Vortian.’

‘We can’t stay out here for much longer,’ she croaked.

‘And let him get away with it?! If we go after him now, we’re bound to catch up!’

She waved a hand at him. ‘Be my guest.’

Zim sprang over to where she sat. The extra legs from his Pak caught him, the prongs piercing the dry earth to root him still. He was leaning over her, but she was unmoved. Perhaps her Pak, in its faultiness, wasn’t able to protect her from the lethal heat as well as it should have been. She braced herself in the dirt, antennae limp, chest heaving.

‘We can’t leave with nothing,’ he insisted. ‘If the Dib isn’t tended to soon, he’ll - _ Zim _ will -’

‘He’ll die,’ she stated for him. ‘Last time I checked, that’s what you wanted.’

Uttering a furious noise, Zim raced back to the ship, searching with fervour. He noticed between his frantic explorations that the other Irken had picked herself back up, and was already returning to her base.

But Zim would not give up. He _ could not _ give up.

Which was just as well.

He wrenched back a crooked section of the vessel’s flooring, the skin on his palms searing through his gloves. And there, underneath, already muck-flecked and cooled by the shade, were the sparse supplies he needed.

* * *

**MEANWHILE... ELSEWHERE...**

Dazzling lights caught the command centre in off-rhythm patterns, the thunk and fury of the firing cannons chasing every flash. Char Kay watched from her chair, her crew around her working hard to reroute power and modify what they could from a distance in the hope of increasing the impact. Then, a sudden movement from the side doors caused a distraction. The scout she had dispatched earlier had returned, breathless, head bowed as he came to stand before her.

‘Still no sign?’

‘Unfortunately not... Although I can’t say where he has gone, I can tell you how he left.’

She shuffled to sit more upright, prompting him on with the surprised lift of her brow.

‘One of the relief ships is missing.’

Of course. She should have known. It was a struggle to hide the disappointment from her face, but at least she could better control her tone.

‘I see.’

‘I’m sorry to bring bad news.'

She unclenched her fist to wave his apology away. ‘No need. We can manage without him. Thank you for the update.’

The scout bowed again, then left the bridge. Char Kay returned her attention to the view outside of her window. An eclectic array of vessels were busy battering the defensive barriers surrounding Irk. Not just Vortian ships, but cavalry from all across the known galaxies. Peoples, once slaves, all ready to make their stands.

Had 777 remained on board, he would have had the luxury of seeing the same. This was only the start of their revenge. Blood for blood, on behalf of his children, and all the other Vortians that had suffered under the cruel hands of the Irkens.

But like with all beginnings, making headway was proving difficult. The Irken shields were proving themselves. For days, they had faced the brunt of her entire resistance, and yet their efficiency had only decreased by a small amount. She grit her teeth, ground her fists into the arms of her chair. This phase of the plan wasn’t going fast enough. She had told the Tallest that they were already in the process of infiltrating the Control Brains, but for now, that couldn’t be further from the truth.

The truth was - she hoped - already down on Irk. A small team, hastily put together, but perfect for breaching the Irkens’ defence systems unnoticed whilst the planet was distracted with the barrages from her fleet.

But having had no contact for so many hours… There was the very real possibility that they had already been captured. But she supposed only time would tell. One way or another, she was going to reach Irken soil.

One way or another, she was going to make them pay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Zim refers to Tak as 'the other Irken' because I figure he wouldn't have made the effort to remember her ha ha. He'll recognise her soon enough though...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nobody asked but this chapter and every one before it is brought to you by Annaland's 'Tokyo' (Popeska remix), playing on repeat. 2:38 - 3:27 (the last 49 seconds) specifically gives me ultimate Ditched vibes. I listen to it so much when working on this fic I think it deserves half the credit at this point ha ha.
> 
> Anyways, time to find out what Tak has been up to. Thank you to those who commented and left Kudos!

Dib jerked awake, coughing, spluttering, his breaths feeling heavy and watery. There was a clatter, metal on metal. A movement to his right drew his frightened attention.

Like a cat skirting danger, Zim was trying to salvage what looked like water. A puddle darkened the metal floor, but he braved the sizzling of his own skin to scoop up the canister and force the cap back on before springing to a drier patch of floor.

‘Insolent human.'

‘What?’ Dib rasped, one hand at his neck. ‘What about _ you_? You could’ve killed -’

His throat thickened, trapping all sound, restricting his air. Zim hurried over, so close that Dib’s struggling heart almost fluttered to a stop. But time seemed to accelerate; before he knew it, Zim was pushing something to his face, and Dib instinctively accepted it. An oxygen mask, he realised, sucking in quick, gulping breaths.

A sense of ease then flooded through him. His lungs were elastic again. But then his skin... It was prickling with a boiling sting. Needles of pain, flesh deep, had him hunched over and panting.

‘Why does it,’ he tried, breathless. ‘I feel like I’ve - like I’ve been on fire.’

Zim was still close, standing in the space between Dib’s sprawled legs.

‘Unlike Earth this disgusting planet has no atmosphere. If it wasn’t Zim, you’d be a dried-out husk by now.’

His tone was sage, his posture proud. If Dib wasn’t so tired, he’d have argued his own case. That he hadn’t burned alive was hardly a positive.

He glanced around the room, trying to make out detail in what felt like endless shadow. Zim was only visible by a soft glow emanating from his Pak.

The weight of the situation hit Dib then. He was _ worlds _ away from Earth. Gaz was alone, trapped in their house without him there. Without the last Spelldrive that was supposed to keep her and the rest of the world safe. How long had they even been here? What if hours here were days on Earth?

His breaths quickened.

He was in space. In space, with no ability to breathe on his own, and stuck with _ Zim_. If it hadn’t been for their pact, Dib knew for sure where he would be by now - asphyxiated in the dirt on some alien world.

‘That other guy,’ Dib said, his voice sounding muffled and distant under the mask, ‘the one with the horns. What he said - was it true? You left his kids here to die..?’

Zim’s gestures were dismissive, his expression relaxed.

‘No, of course not. Those Vortian smeets were worth more alive, but it’s no matter...’

‘What do you mean, it’s no matter?’ Although Dib was trying not to sound hysterical, his pitch was all over the place, spittle lashing his mask as his voice grew louder. ‘You didn’t have to leave them here. _ We _ probably wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t.’

‘You dare blame Zim?! This is your fault, _ Dib_. If it wasn’t for your pathetic curse, it wouldn’t matter if you could breathe or not.’ He was pointing at him, his eyes blood red in the dimness of the room. ‘Now stop talking. Your useless human organs are using up all the oxygen.’

‘Using up all of the,’ Dib repeated in a thin gasp, holding where his ribs hurt. ‘Then it doesn’t matter, does it? One way or another, I’m gonna die here and you’re gonna turn into a human and there’s nothing you can do about it!’

He took in a desperate gulp, every breath thereafter catching in his lungs, frail and half-formed, his body demanding more, until the inhaling interrupted the exhaling. And then he couldn’t stop. An ache spread through his chest. For all he knew he could be dying right now. 

Then something grazed his arm. Dib jerked in panic, one hand pressing the mask hard against his mouth, the other twisting the - he now realised - torn fabric of his shirt. It was Zim, it was only Zim. His voice barely reached him over the frantic chafing of his own breaths. He grabbed Dib’s face in both hands, shaking him.

‘Hey! You're trying to speed up your dying on purpose, aren't you?!'

Dib shook his head from side-to-side to free himself.

‘I can’t,' he managed. 'I can’t stop -’

He fell to the side, too weak to support himself. His shoulder took the brunt, his knees drawing up towards his chest. Hiding his face behind his arms, a thin sliver of a gap was all he had to see by. There was no telling if his vision was spotting or if the room was really so blackened. Everything seemed to draw in. The only sound, his own heavy panting in his head. Until a different voice to Zim's caught him off guard.

‘You said your kind loses intelligence with age, Dib, but I never thought it’d be this bad.’

Dib separated his arms. Another Irken was standing there. Like Zim, she hadn't changed at all. He scraped himself upright, eyes heavy-lidded behind his crooked glasses. A little embarrassed to think she could have been among them the whole time.

‘Tak…?’

A soft press of condensation touched the mask’s surface, clearing just as quickly as he sucked in another breath.

‘I thought your choice in parent was going to make you immune,’ she said.

Dib lifted his hand to wave away her statement, grimacing as he thought better of the movement.

‘That was just - it was kid stuff,’ he managed, wilting, ‘we don’t really… and… humans don’t _ choose _ their parents...’

‘Wait a minute,’ said Zim, moving closer to them. ‘You're _Tak_?'

She looked at him, scowling.

‘I was wondering when you’d finally drop your pride.’

He said nothing, just stood there, posture slack, and squinting as though he couldn’t quite see her properly

‘You _ know _ who I am, Zim,’ she accused, ‘_and _ how close I came to destroying Earth, but you’re as bad at lying as you are at everything else.’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘When did you get here? And how?’ Dib asked, desperate for a fight not to break out. His heart was still flip-flopping in his chest, the rest of him shaky and frail-feeling.

Tak’s expression drew even more severe. ‘My ship crashed not long after you both ousted me from Earth.’

‘And the kids? The aliens with the horns? They were left here.’

For a few moments, she almost mirrored Zim in her confusion. Then she straightened, antennae fully upright, and gestured casually.

‘The planet was like this when I got here.’

‘_See_, Dib, didn't I tell you,’ Zim taunted.

‘Uh, no you didn't actually.'

He continued to talk as if Dib had never spoken. ‘The damage here is extensive. The planet must have been hit by a meteor. Maybe if the Vortians weren’t so _ weak _ and pathetic, they would still be here to explain.’

‘Or maybe if you hadn’t brought them here in the first place -’

‘DON’T speak about things you don’t understand, Dib!’

‘Both of you, stop talking,’ Tak snapped.

Her fists were clenched at her sides, her arms rigid; it was uncanny how little had changed in her since Dib had seen her last. Like she held all of the same ire, and the air of grace and control Zim so obviously lacked. Not that she was paying any attention to him. Dib shied from the harshness of her stare.

‘The longer we sit here and do nothing, the more oxygen you’re going to waste,' she said. 'It’s clear the Vortian is making his own efforts to get off-world. He would’ve known to cut his losses once he realised _ Zim _ wasn’t the only Irken he was up against.’

Zim’s lips curled with a soft growl. ‘What are you talking about? We’d still have a working vessel if it wasn’t for you!’

‘_You _ messed with the controls,’ Tak seethed, jabbing a clawed finger his way. ‘If you’d done as I’d _ said _ -’

‘Wait, wait, go back a second…’

Dib measured a thin, slow breath.

‘How much oxygen do I have left exactly?’

Tak offered him a pitying look.

‘Weeks?’ he tested. Then, when no confirmation came, ‘Days?’

Neither of the Irkens moved. Two pairs of colourful, oval eyes were fixed onto him, features unfathomable in the dark and uncomfortable silence.

‘_Hours_?’

At this, Zim flinched. He was at Tak’s side in a heartbeat, gripping the front of her tunic.

‘You must have salvaged something useful from the ship we’re in now. And your escape pod!’

Tak pried open his hands to free herself. ‘The pod is ruined.’

He was just as quick to grab her again. ‘_Zim _ will decide if it’s ruined.’

‘Get off me!'

Dib's bones leapt in fright at the volume of her shout.

'If I’d been able to fashion anything out of the scraps, don’t you think I’d be gone by now?!’

The change in her demeanour was lightning quick. Zim stiffened as she shoved him aside, his attempt to catch himself clumsy and ending with him on his knees.

‘I don’t have anything left of the escape pod,’ Tak growled, dusting herself off, ‘so don’t ask me again.’

Dib could hear the soft patter of her footsteps as she retreated into the shadows. The wrench of metal on metal followed, a thin slip of light coaxed into the room as she left via what he could assume was the only door. She didn’t close it after herself. Zim picked himself up in pursuit, pausing only for a moment, a poised silhouette in the glare.

‘Don’t move,’ he ordered, readying himself to sweep the door closed. ‘And stop breathing so loud.’

A grating slam kept Dib from saying anything in answer.

He sat for a moment, the silence whining in his ears. Every dry breath like the ticking of a clock. Winding him down to the moment when it could all stop.

* * *

**LONG AGO, BEFORE THE FLORPUS**

They spoke most bizarrely in Irken, gesturing to her half-covered ship and speculating about its composition.

‘That curved...,’ she heard, ‘the usual shape for...’

‘I can see their mark... looks different… Coiled...’

Tak wrapped her arms tighter around the branch keeping her out of sight. What were two Vortians - and ones so young - doing off-world? Vort was a colony of Irk. The vast majority of its kind had been imprisoned on their own home world, the ones with greater expertise responsible for engineering military-grade technology for the Tallest themselves. This was an untouched planet with no industry, and it had to be at least within Earth’s galaxy, however far her escape pod had tumbled.

The disguise module attached to Tak’s head began generating a suitable outward image for her to adopt. She reached up with one hand, feeling as textured horns replaced her feather-thin antennae. She was going to have to investigate.

‘Zim,’ one of the Vortians then stated.

Tak nearly dropped out of the tree in her shock.

The other gasped. ‘Then our parent must be here.’

‘Maybe not,’ said the first carefully. ‘We shouldn’t get our hopes up, remember? Last time he just brought supplies.’

‘That was ages ago though...’

‘Well, he could see we were self-sustaining by then...’

Tak slid down the tree bark, allowing her Pak to help only for as long as she was off their visual radar. It was when her feet hit the earth with a soft press that the Vortians’ attentions were pricked.

‘Did you hear that?’

‘Please,’ Tak said, speaking in their mother tongue. She revealed herself with her head lowered and her arms up. ‘I mean you no harm.’

They both stared, saying nothing.

‘You don’t speak any Vortian languages…?’

She mimicked the mistakes non-Irkens so commonly made. There had been plenty of Vortians and others alike scrubbing up planet Dirt along with her. A little word-slurring was enough to match that strange, non-native accent she had become so accustomed to hearing.

‘Who are you?’ one of the Vortians tested, understanding her Irken.

Their tone was soft with apprehension. As if she might announce herself as the parent they were waiting for after all.

‘An escapee,’ she said, not reacting when their expressions drew pained. ‘I stole that Irken ship and fled my station.’

The two Vortians glanced at one another.

‘You speak as they do, so you must have heard. The Irkens - they turned against us. We’re an enslaved people now.’

‘We know,’ one said.

‘Is that how you’ve come to be here?’ Tak ventured, aiming to herd them into talking about Zim. ‘Did you also escape?’

‘Not quite,’ the same Vortian said. Tak could detect the suspicion in their voice. ‘You’re from an Irken colony, you said? I can’t say exactly where this is but you’ve come a long way. The Irken Armada hasn’t arrived here yet...’

She nodded emphatically, clasping her fingers together. The Vortians were a jittery, emotional lot, so that was how she would have to appeal to them.

‘I pushed that ship to go as far as it would get me,’ she recounted. ‘I had to abandon the main vessel somewhere overhead. The engines failed. I just wanted to get away. The things they made me do…’

At this, the Vortians drew closer.

‘Don’t worry,’ the smallest said, speaking to her for the first time. ‘There are no Irkens here.’

‘Maybe we can help each other out,’ said the first quickly. ‘See, you might be stuck here for a while. We have no parts or components for the pod that brought you. And if we’re to live harmoniously…’ The Vortian looked to their smaller counterpart. ‘We’d appreciate it if you could help in return for food and shelter. We tend this land ourselves. It’s not easy work, but we’ve learned a lot in the years we’ve been here. We grow just enough to survive.’

Keeping to the front, the taller Vortian took hold of their sibling’s hand. Tak left a long enough pause to indicate emotional disturbance.

‘You’re alone?’ she questioned.

The little Vortians nodded.

She was drawing on her knowledge of their species, their natural parental instincts; to their kind, an infant left alone would be considered _ abandoned._ Something in need of looking after. Not unlike the humans, then... Without a doubt, she needed her voice, her posture, her entire being to embody the anxiety one would feel upon discovering two children left to fend for themselves.

‘What has become of your family?’ she stuttered. ‘How did you get to be so far away from our home world?’

‘We were taken from our sole surviving parent by an Irken,’ the taller Vortian said tentatively, ‘but I promise -’

‘An Irken?’ Tak repeated in faux surprise.

Finally, the conversation was going where she wanted it to go, but the Vortians exchanged nervous glances. Already sold on the notion that she was a stray Vortian like them, and looking for comfort like them. 

The smaller one stepped behind his sibling as if to shy away.

‘The Irken’s name is Zim, but he’s not here, so you shouldn’t worry,’ said the other. 

‘Why did he take you?’ she pressed.

It was clear this was a difficult topic for them. After a few false starts, they eventually managed, ‘I think he and our parent had some kind of arrangement before the Irkens invaded. I guess he thought Zim would honour that and harbour us until the culling died down… He separated us... We don’t remember much... For a time, he kept us in his base on a different planet...’

‘Yes,’ the littler of the two said, ‘but then we outgrew the container.’

‘And what of your parent?’ Tak asked, interested. ‘Where did this Zim take him?’

‘He won’t tell us.’

Tak nodded in acknowledgement, not sure she could say anything without betraying her mounting enthusiasm. Her squeedlyspooch was lifted to the base of her throat, maniacal laughter itching to burst past.

‘He visits you?’ she checked.

‘Not so often now... Initially he seemed… anxious to see that we could make our own living…’

Tak cocked her head, internally making a lot of effort to translate the butchered version of Irken these two younglings spoke. Zim? _Anxious_? They had interesting ways of working around the restrictive vocabulary, she supposed. A mix of what she guessed they must have heard and learnt from Zim, peppered with words her Pak was all too willing to offer interpretations for, even if the concepts were beyond an Irken scope.

‘Zim was here so regularly in the early days we could predict his visits,’ the Vortian persisted. ‘We worked hard, we obeyed all of his demands… We must have proved ourselves because he hasn’t been back since.’

‘But when?’ Tak said, her thoughts wild and distracted. ‘When was he last here?’

The Vortians faltered, brought to pause by her terse tone.

‘I’m sorry, it’s just… As you can imagine, I don’t trust them,’ she excused. ‘I - I need to know when he might come back so that he doesn’t _ see _ me here.’

‘You shouldn’t worry,’ the Vortian repeated, hands up to soothe her. ‘Like I said, it’s been such a long time… and we know the sound of his cruiser by now. We’ll be able to give you good warning. In fact, we have more detailed records at home. You should come with us. I wouldn’t want to leave you out here alone... There are creatures on this planet with sharper teeth than ours.’

With a lop-sided smile, they held out a hand in ofference, and Tak had to swallow down her disgust to comply. Their skin was so dry and warm, and physical contact was not something she particularly enjoyed either.

The walk to their base was long and humid, but the Vortians seemed to know the terrain well. There were already paths worn into the foliage, and some of the larger trees had been hacked into stumps to clear the way. 

What greeted her was less of a base, and more of a mud hut. Primitive, the only evidence of their innate technological mindset was in the basic mechanisms they had assembled with sticks, stone, and mud, all hewn into perfectly angular structures.

Between the levelled fields groaning with curling full-leafed crops, there were pens housing huge, lumbering beasts, all muscle with sharp tusks, their eyes dark and watchful as Tak was led towards the house.

More surprisingly, there was a figure at the doorway. The tallest of the three, but with one horn sawn almost to the scalp.

‘That’s - ’

‘The oldest of us,’ the taller blurted out, silencing their sibling. ‘But she’s not well.’

Tak said nothing, and hoped her silence would be understood as grief. The older Vortian limped out to greet her, a scar splitting her lower lip to the base of her chin.

‘You said you would stay indoors until we’d reported back,’ the second-tallest said.

She shrugged. ‘Who is this? Where is Zim?’’

‘Not here. This one escaped from an Irken colony. We’ve offered food and shelter in return for help.’

‘Escaped?’ she prompted, looking at Tak with thin, narrowed eyes. ‘From where?’

‘Planet Dirt,’ said Tak.

She went on to improvise a life as a slave under the Irkens that was not entirely without real detail, but yet made-up enough to sound as though it had all happened to another person, in a different life.

‘What strange fortune that you landed here,’ said the third sibling once she was finished.

‘Yes,’ said Tak. ‘Serendipitous...’

And she liked that word. Good fortune for her didn’t have to mean good fortune for everybody else. An Irken would have understood immediately what she meant with a word like that.

The Vortians, however, merely found in it an interesting vocabulary lesson.


End file.
